


PSYCHO

by HoodedAndromeda



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: "Bernadette" IAMX, "Insomnia" IAMX, Broken Family, Chris Backer is Phone Guy, Dark Romance, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fear of Abandonment, Flashbacks, Inspired by IAMX, Make sure to read the dates, Mental Breakdown, Originally Published on Quotev, Swearing, Toxic Relationship, Vincent W. Perse is Purple Guy, Vincent and Bernadette, fear of loneliness, language warning, nervous breakdown, old fanfiction, originally written in 2016, time jumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodedAndromeda/pseuds/HoodedAndromeda
Summary: NOTE: ORIGINALLY WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED ON QUOTEV IN 2016THIS IS AN OLD FAN FICTION, BUT I STILL LOVE IT AND I'M STILL PROUD OF ITVincent had loved her with every fiber of his being, and leaving her was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Years later, her memory still lingers, tempting him all the time. When she suddenly comes back into his life, he can't bring himself to fight her, and he finds himself sucked right back in. But he's in love, and love is worth a hell of a lot more than his sanity... isn't it?





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this was my very first fan fiction. I wrote it back in 2016, when Five Nights at Freddy's was still sort of big. I had always been fascinated by the Purple Guy story line, but had never been able to find an origin story that felt quite right to me... so I decided to write my own. I worked hard on this for more than a year, and really grew to care about my version of Purple Guy, so I hope you guys like him, too. Anyway, please excuse any awkwardness or typos that may be scattered throughout, because although I worked my ass off on this, I was still just a beginner. That being said, please enjoy "PSYCHO"!

**October 30, 2023**

He shambled down the awkwardly angled halls of an unknown territory, finding his way around entirely by sound and scent because his eyes were useless.

He was following an annoyingly persistent choking noise. It was loud and irritating and somewhat shrill, and he wanted to put a stop to it. He may not be able to get the pain to leave him be, but there was no doubt in his mind that he could make this panting… _thing_ go away.

_…Wait_. There was a new voice. Well, actually, an old one- one that he hadn't been able to find the source of yet. It was a child who was shouting "hello" at him and then laughing because he could not see it. Damn that kid. Toying with him, mocking him! He couldn't remember why children made him so upset. He remembered very little about what had happened before he woke up. The memories he did have were confusing and often violent.

There were… two people. Yelling and crying. Strangers were shouting at him. At some point there was a lot of shrieking from all sorts of things. Sometimes he thought he was the one screaming, but he could never really be sure. …He couldn't breathe. It hurt his chest to try. And his head--! He was so _dizzy_ … There was something warm in his mouth. It was coming out of him in clumps and streams. He couldn't _breathe_ …!

Within all the chaos, he saw her. He saw her again and again. He felt something incredible when her image came to him the first time. It was like instant relief. She arrived and he relaxed. He felt safe, warm. However, he had noticed early on that if he focused on her all of the positive feelings began to disappear.

The warmth would fade to a tingling numbness similar to the one that ate up his body; only now he'd feel it inside. It was distressing, and, oddly enough, painful. Physically he was feeling nothing, but in his soul...

He wanted her. He wanted to touch her, to feel her body against his, hear her whisper to him and hold her tight as she kissed him and assured him that there was nothing wrong. But he knew... he knew that…  


He seemed to vaguely recall that she'd kiss him and touch him and whisper to him, but he was afraid of her. She’d ask him to do terrible things. She’d tear him down until he did everything she wanted. On the rare occasions that he wouldn't obey her, she'd get upset. He didn't want her to get upset. He stopped moving suddenly. …What had he been doing? Trying to find something... But what? He sighed internally. She had distracted him again. Thoughts of her always did. Damn that woman, whoever she was… 

He smelled something new. It was hot and thick-- it made his nose itch and his chest burn. Then there was that horrible kid again- teasing him, making his head hurt. He had t-- that SMELL! It was awful! It was preventing the air from getting into his damaged lungs. He had to stop walking. He was lost again anyway. He'd sit and wait until he regained his sense of direction and until that _stench_ went away…

…Maybe while he rested, he could figure out who she was…


	2. PAY-CUTS AND NIGHTMARES

**July 19, 1969**

Ruby was hunched over the kitchen table, her face in her hands. She was totally still, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders. There was an untouched mug of coffee in front of her that had gone cold long ago.

"Mama?" A soft voice peeped from the kitchen doorway. Ruby straightened up, her grey eyes finding her son. He was a small boy, skinny, with black hair that fell all the way to his thin shoulders. His eyes, which were the same shade of grey as hers, were clouded with a kind of worry she never thought should be seen in a child.

"Hey, Baby." Ruby said, rubbing her temples with tapered fingers.  
"Did Dad have a 'mergency at the store?” The small boy looked around the room expectantly. He knew his father should be home. It was Saturday, after all. He would only be absent if something big was happening at his workplace. After a long pause, she finally spoke and her voice trembled.  
"Well, Honey... your daddy is very confused right now."   
"'Bout what?" He asked.  
"…About what he wants." She was quiet for a little longer, "Come here, Sweetie." Ruby extended her pale, freckled arms to her child and he scurried toward her, letting himself be swept up into her lap. She held him to her chest, pressing her face into his sleep-mussed hair. She hugged him tight, rocking him back and forth with her.

"Your dad is going to be away for a while..." She whispered, feeling tears slip down her cheeks and into her child's hair.   
"When's he gonna be back?"   
"I… I don't know, Baby."

 

**October 09, 1986**

Vincent Perse stared blankly past his boss as he jabbered on and on. He hadn’t been working the day shift for very long, but he already hated it. He had been much better suited for the night watch, but the manager, Jacob Matthews, had disagreed. It all came down to money. If they brought in someone new, they wouldn’t have to pay them nearly as much and Fazbear Entertainment was always looking for ways to “save” cash. The plan was to hire some kid for a week or two at a time, then let them go.

It wasn't that Vincent disliked children. He actually didn’t have much of a problem with them at all, apart from when they had tantrums or threw up all over the place. In all honesty, his annoyance had more to do with the fact that he didn’t want to be surrounded by so many strange faces for hours at a time.

"Perse!" Matthews barked suddenly, startling Vincent. He dropped the pen he had been absentmindedly playing with, his hands flying up to his head and grabbing at his thick raven hair.   
"Yes, Sir?"   
"I'd 'preciate if ya'd stop throwin' a hissy fit 'bout bein' 'ere an' pay attention ta wha' I'm sayin'!"

"He was just clicking a pen." a blonde waitress at the other end of the table muttered.  
"Wha' was tha', Erikson?"   
"My apologies, Sir, I'll relax." Vincent said quickly, before Margaret "Magpie" Erikson could answer.

Magpie made a face at the guard, obviously put out with him for, as she'd put it, not letting her handle her own problems. Vincent briefly imitated her annoyed facial expression before winking and facing front again.  
"Good. As I was sayin'..."

 

♠♠♠

 

"G-god, how cheap can M-Matthews _get_!" Chris Backer threw his hands up in the air, shaking his head.  
"Y’know, part of me wonders if this is all just some elaborate plot of his to get more money for cigarettes ‘n booze." Vincent said through gritted teeth. Backer chuckled quietly.   
"A-and the way he snaps at half of us in every, uh, every meeting... Good thing you cut M-Magpie off b-before she got herself into trouble." Vince shrugged, casting a sideways glance at the shorter man walking next to him.

"Eh, I guess." Chris rolled his blue eyes. He was sure that his coworker liked the young lady in more ways than one. ...Then again, he did flirt with just about every pretty woman he met... Maybe the way he acted with Magpie was just Vincent being Vincent. Chris waved a freckled hand dismissively. 

"A-anyway," he continued, adjusting his glasses, "You got any, um, plans for t-to-tonight?"  
"Mhm." Vincent sighed, pulling his car keys out of his pocket as they exited the building, "I am going to go home and go to bed."   
"Sounds good. W-well, see you, uh, see you 'round, Perse." Chris laughed, saluting his coworker.  
"Later, Backer." Vince replied, raising his hand to him before walking toward his car. Once inside, he slumped forward in the driver’s seat and let his forehead rest against the top of the steering wheel.

"Damn, I'm exhausted... Obnoxious shit-faced entitled parents doting on their perfect birthday boys and girls..." He sighed, rubbing his temples with the heels of his hands.   
"I can't wait to get home..." After a long moment, he pulled his hands away from his face and turned the key in the ignition.

 

**October 10, 1986**

Vincent sat in his bed, holding his head in his hands and carefully working on slowing his breathing to a normal pace. It was that damn dream again... God. He'd been having it off and on for years now, and he never failed to wake from it completely panicked. Of course, it only came on nights where he slept alone... which was still too often for his taste.

It wasn't so much the blinding light or his mangled reflection in the cracked mirror that bothered him. It was the inability to breathe when those deformed hands closed around his neck and burned his throat… suffocating him.

He weaved his fingers through his messy hair, letting out a shaky sigh. He leaned over, pulling open the drawer to his bedside table and feeling for a familiar piece of plastic. His hand finally found it, but when he pulled it free he realized that it was unnervingly light. He turned the bottle in his hands, listening to the lone pill rattle weakly inside of its container. He checked the label and groaned when he saw that the pills had expired almost two months ago. 

"Fuck me." He whispered, dropping the orange plastic bottle in his lap. It was his own damn fault that he had fallen down on the job. He had gotten cocky (again) and stopped taking his meds. He had stupidly thought that he was past it, that he would be just fine on his own. He had put his faith in himself and now he was paying for it. He knew better than to let this happen. The pills had been prescribed to him for a reason, after all. He needed them. Unfortunately, he had always resented the fact that he needed them. Ever since he graduated high school, he had started to dislike relying on anything other than himself, and eventually he hated having to commit to these-

"Bullshit mind-numbing tablets!" -that prevented him from fulfilling a possible potential. …The potential to be himself. Ever since he had gotten into the habit of taking them like he had been told to, he felt that something deep within him had been fighting to get out. The pills were keeping it trapped. He was often tempted to let it out when he felt like he could be trusted to control his own life, but…

He grabbed the bottle again and threw it as hard as he could against the far wall before flopping back down onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the persistent buzz of his alarm clock.

"'S probably all just a trick anyway. Think they can control me with fuckin' tic tacs..." He pulled his hands down his face.  
"'You're sick, Mister Perse!'" He mocked in a high voice, "'Let me brainwash you all better!' Fuck this. Fuck them. Fuck the pills. Fuck me!" He let out a strangled moan before quieting once more.

He worked on controlling his breathing, inhaling and exhaling as slowly as he could, completely tuning out the still ringing alarm and the whirring of the blades in the floor fan he had set up last night (his ac was broken).

"Relax, Vince..." He told himself gently, "Relax. There's nothing wrong enough with you that you _actually_ need help, right? Right. But at least they stop that horrible dream, right? Right again." He rolled onto his stomach, reaching over to turn off the alarm clock.   
"Stay calm. We've got work today. And we don't want to get in trouble for being ‘irritable’ again..." With some effort, he slithered out of bed and slunk toward the bathroom to take a shower. He wondered suddenly how many more late arrivals it would be before they carried through with that threat to let him go.


	3. ENCOUNTERS

**September 22, 1969**

Vincent's gaze wandered across the schoolyard, briefly settling on different sets of playground equipment. He was standing alone at the edge of the wood chips. He watched a game of tag for a while before walking slowly toward the slides and monkey bars.

He soon came to the place where he best liked to play by himself- a relatively large gap beneath a staircase which lead to the top of the tallest slide. He got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl into the shady nook when a round white face took him by surprise. The seven year old boy shrieked, falling backwards.

"Gosh, what a scaredy cat!" The strange girl huffed, smoothing out her burgundy dress.   
"'M not!" Vincent squeaked, shaking his head in a way that made his shaggy black hair bounce.

"Y'are too!" She retorted, sticking out her tongue and crossing her arms. Vincent also stuck out his tongue, twisting his face into an unbecoming look that his mother would scold him for making. The small girl scoffed, adjusting a ribbon in her short brown hair.

"That's a dumb face."  
"No’s not! 'S scary!"  
"Duuuuumb!"

"Scary!" Vincent clenched his small fists, hissing loudly, but this did not get the reaction he had hoped for either. The petite girl burst into laughter. It was a pretty little laugh, like silver bells.

"W-why ya laughin' at me?" He sputtered, his unpleasant expression melting into one of genuine confusion.

"'Cause you're funny!" She giggled, "What's your name? Mine's Bernadette!"  
"...Oh. Uh, I'm Vince." He stayed quiet for a second longer before continuing. He pointed at the mound of dry dirt and wood chips the tiny brunette was sitting on.   
"You're 'n my spot."  
"Hasn't got your name on it." Vincent was beginning to get frustrated again. Why did girls always have to act so weird?  
"I sit here evr'yday!"   
"Why? Don't you have friends you can play with?" The boy flinched.  
"…Fine. Stay, I don't care!" He stood up and began to walk away when he felt a hand close around his ankle. He looked back, scowling at the girl in the old red dress and matching bow.   
"Vincey."  
"…What."  
"You're gonna be my friend."

**October 24, 1986**

Miss Erikson finished loading up a platter of pizza slices and paper cups filled with soft drinks, rolling her eyes at her coworker. He was flirting again. The tall man was sat on the countertop beside her, totally ignoring everyone in the else in the kitchen as he watched her with an odd fascination. He spoke to her in an affectionately teasing way, a sly smile stretching his lips. Magpie self-consciously pushed her hair out of her face, still looking down at the tray of food.

"Don't you have a job to do?" She said suddenly, cutting Vince off mid-word. Vincent’s smile grew.

"I'm doing it right now, Sweetheart."   
"What, pestering me?"  
"Eeexactly~!" Vincent sang.

Magpie scoffed, picking up the plastic platter that had been painted to look gold.   
"You'd better get back to your position. Matthews'll skin you alive if he finds out you haven't been doing your _real_ job. What if some creep sneaks in?" Vincent chuckled, slipping off of the counter and landing lightly on the black and white tile floor.  
"Aw, c'mon! This is a _children's theme restaurant_. The worst that could happen here is a temper tantrum!"   
"Famous last words, Perse." The waitress turned away from the security guard and walked toward the kitchen exit to drop off food for a family.

Vincent watched her leave, a little disappointed. She was fun. Slowly, he slunk out of the kitchen and back to his post at the far left corner of the show room. He leaned heavily against one of the pastel green walls, scanning his surroundings with distaste. It was a Friday afternoon, so the tables were flooded with children and frazzled parents. He managed to spot Magpie taking orders from a birthday party consisting almost entirely of tiny blonde girls in front of the show stage.

Vincent dragged his eyes away from the younger woman and stared at the line of children waiting to get a picture with Fredbear. He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. A boy had just run up to the front of the line and squished himself between the first and second child. The boy he had cut in front of squawked angrily, pushing him down.   
_Greeaat._

Next thing he knew, their parents went off on one another. The man who had been standing with his son in line had demanded to know where the other kid's father was. Soon there was obnoxiously loud arguing and wild gesturing. Vincent sighed and straightened up, sauntering toward the fighting parents. 

"Afternoon, gentlemen. What seems to be the problem?"  
"This little shit cut in front of my son!" The first father spat. He was about Vincent’s height, give or take an inch, and his face was beet red with anger.  
"Well it was _that_ bitch who attacked my boy!" Growled the other. This one was tubby with watery brown eyes and he seemed like the kind of “man” who looked for fights at every turn.   
" _Attacked_?! He was just sticking up for himself!"

"Now, gentlemen, let’s just take a moment to calm d--"  
"Tell that son of a bitch and his rotten hellspawn to get out of here!" The pudgy man roared, pointing an accusatory finger at the parent of the first boy. 

"Unfortunately, if you don’t quiet down right now I’m going to have to ask you _both_ to leave. We have a strong-"   
"You want _me_ to leave?! _Me_?!"

Vincent held up his hands to show he meant no offense, but there was a spark of annoyance behind his grey eyes that this man was fanning.   
"Sir, I'd appreciate it if you would--" The fat man's fist collided with Vincent's jaw, forcing him back a step. The guard blinked in surprise, touching his now throbbing mouth. He pulled back his fingers and saw that they were dampened with red. Cries of dismay and confusion had begun to break out around him.

"Huh... Well, would you look at that! Blood." In the blink of an eye Vincent swung his arm forward. His blow landed on the bridge of his assailant’s nose with a crunch. He collapsed onto the floor, holding his damaged nose as he cried out in pain. Vincent carefully flexed his fingers, looking down at the quivering heap of lard with distaste.

"We don't tolerate fighting at Freddy's. Gather your children and leave." He turned around and began to slink away while pressing his fingers against his split lip, wincing at the pressure. 

"Perse!" He stopped and looked over his shoulder as Magpie ran up to him.  
"Oh my god, are you okay?" She covered her mouth as she stared at his with concern. The pale man shrugged, smiling weakly.   
"Your mouth is bleeding!"  
"Oh, is that what that taste is?"  
"Shut up, Smartass. We're going to get you some ice." Magpie took his available hand and lead him back into the kitchen.

 

♠♠♠

 

"What th' hell were you _thinkin_ ', Perse?!" Jacob Matthews groaned, grabbing fistfuls of his greying hair.

"I was quiet and courteous, Sir. I only hit him after he hit me."  
"Tha' asshole could sue us fer watcha did, ya know! An' we can't afford tha'! Th’ company’ll shut this location down if we get into more trouble!" Vincent said nothing, turning his eyes down to his lap. He was barely even breathing.

"I like ya, Perse. You're not bad at watcha do. But you're too... Impulsive. An' tha's gotta change."  
"I understand, Mister Matthews." He muttered.  
"Do ya, Perse? Do ya _really_? 'Cause I don't wanna tell ya 'gain. Ya need ta relax. You’ve got a walkie. If somethin' like this happens 'gain, call fer help. Or jus' walk away. S'not gonna 'urt your rep to walk away. Ya aren't some stupid kid." Matthews sighed, standing up.  
"Look… Jus’ in case anything more goes down, I’m gonna ask ya ta stay home next week." Vincent nodded slowly as if he agreed, but he could feel an irrational annoyance gnawing at him.   
"...That sounds reasonable."


	4. FAMILIAR FACES

**October 31, 1986**

"H-hello! Uh, hello! Perse!" Chris called, waving at his coworker in greeting. Vince politely raised his right hand in response and quickened his pace to join up with Chris' group.   
"I'm glad you decided to j-join us! This is my, um, my f-fiancée, Heather." the redhead nodded at the tall young woman holding his hand. With curly hair, dark eyes and a gentle smile, she was a quiet kind of beautiful.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss." Vincent said, greeting her with a brief smile.   
"Likewise."  
"And this is her, uh, her little b-brother, Jeremy." Vincent's gaze was redirected to a frail looking boy of about eighteen with a mop of unruly blonde hair and eyes that darted to and fro, never taking a break from scanning the surroundings for danger.   
"Hello." Jeremy hesitated a moment before replying.   
"…Hi."

"And you and Magpie o-ob-obviously know each other." Chris said quickly.   
"Obviously." Vincent repeated, smirking down at the girl. 

“Nice to see you again, Perse.” Magpie said, dipping her head in greeting. Vincent ran his tongue suggestively over his lip as he stared down at her.

“Oh, is it now? Didja miss me, Magpie~?”

“You wish.” She replied flatly, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. He chuckled, shrugging before putting his hands back in his pockets and looking expectantly at Chris.

"Well, gang, let's get, uh, let’s get going!" Chris beckoned his friends forward, leading them to his beat-up car. Heather and Chris took the front seats while Jeremy, Magpie, and Vincent sat (a bit uncomfortably) in the back. The tall man draped his arm across the back of their seats, brushing his fingers lightly over the back of Magpie’s neck as he did so. Blushing, she leaned as far away from him as she could and unintentionally squished Jeremy against the opposite door. 

 

♠♠♠

Vincent jumped involuntarily at the sound of some dishes clattering to the floor behind him. Immediately embarrassed, he glanced around the table to make sure that no one had seen him. The noise of the crowded restaurant must’ve drowned out the crash, because no one in his party had reacted to it in the slightest. They were all jabbering on, not really taking notice of his silence (which must’ve lasted at least five minutes at this point).  Apparently, he had missed a lot in only a week’s time. 

Matthews’ grandkids, Alex and David (regular attendees of the restaurant), had apparently moved in with him and his wife due to some undetermined issues regarding their mother and were now going to be at Freddy’s every afternoon. There were rumors that it had something to do with substance abuse. Their father had passed away a year ago now, so Vincent quietly hoped that said rumors were untrue. That wouldn’t have been fair to the kids. He was not fond of Alexander, but he had always appreciated David’s respectful, quiet personality and so he was capable of feeling pangs of sympathy for him from time to time.

His thoughts turned to his own mother, who he had not spoken to in what must’ve been weeks now. He hoped she was doing alright and decided that he’d call her first thing in the morning to check in with her. He always wanted to be sure… His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as Magpie rested her small hand against his arm. He looked down at her, a little surprised by the sudden contact.

            “You okay…?” She asked softly, “You’re kinda quiet.” He shrugged, smiling weakly.

“Nah, Kid, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” She nodded, glancing back at Chris and Heather who were talking nonstop with occasional interruptions from Jeremy.

“…So what do you think of those two?”  Vince murmured, subtly gesturing toward Chris’ companions. Magpie shrugged, spinning her straw in her drink.

“Dunno. She’s pretty cool, but he’s a little…” she searched for the right words but was unable to come up with them, “just... different, I guess. Seems nice, though.” Vincent nodded his agreement.

“Yeah. I think--” He stopped. His eyes had begun to naturally drift toward the opposite end of the restaurant and what he saw jolted him almost painfully. He was fixated on another woman. She looked so… familiar… She wore tight red clothes that wonderfully complemented her full-figured body and she had short, curly, brown hair. She was leaning against the bar, whispering into the ear of a man he assumed was her date. She looked up and for just a second and it felt as though she were staring right through Vincent.

“Vincent?” He flinched. The girl’s brow was furrowed with concern as she nudged him, pulling him out of his trance.

“Hm?”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You just stopped talking and started… staring. At strangers.”

“I… I did?” He instinctively looked back toward the bar. She was gone. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. With a long sigh, he turned his gaze back to his coworker. She bit her lip.

“Yeah, you did. Maybe you should go home. You look kinda pale.” He shook his head, rubbing his forearms before grabbing his glass off the table and taking a long drink. When he had swallowed the last of it, he set the cup heavily back down and shook his head again.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Magpie. I’m okay.” He spoke a little too roughly for her taste.

“If you’re sure…” She went quiet as she looked back over at Chris, Heather, and Jeremy. The disappointment hit Vincent again, this time because he knew he had hurt her feelings.

_God, I shouldn’t have come out here tonight._

 

**May 03, 1974**

"Are we going to have to have another talk like this, Mister Perse?"  
"No, Sir."  
"I don't want to have to suspend you. Do you want me to suspend you?"  
"No, Sir."  
"Do you want me to get your mother involved?"

"No, Sir." Vincent stared down at his hands folded in his lap, his black hair hiding his eyes from the principal.   
"That's what I thought." The older man nodded slowly, a hint of satisfaction in his brown eyes, "She would be terribly disappointed to find out you had another fight."   
"Yes, Sir." The middle-schooler's voice grew softer with each word.

"Can I trust that this will be the last time you show up in my office this year?"   
"Yes, Sir. I promise, Sir. Sir- please don't call my mom." He looked up at the principal, his grey eyes begging for mercy. A brief pang of pity struck the adult when he saw the bruises on his face, inflicted by a bigger classmate (although that kid didn't look much better). He sighed and then nodded.   
"Alright Mister Perse, you may leave now."

Vincent jumped out of his uncomfortable seat and hurried out of the office. He closed the door behind him a little carelessly and cringed. Hopefully that wouldn't get him back into trouble.

"Vince?" A female voice called. The thirteen year old boy looked to his left. There she was. Her short brown hair ruffled in an endearing sort of way, dressed in a red sweater that was cut so that it fit beautifully over her already curved figure.   
"Bernadette. Hey."   
"What were you in Smith's office for?" Vincent shrugged, pushing his longish hair out of his face.   
"I was in trouble." Bernadette's dark eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips.   
"What, for that fight with Gabriel? I told you, he _deserved_ to lose that tooth! He deserved a hell of a lot more, if you ask me."

"I _know_ that, Bernadette! I'm not an idiot. It's the teachers! They're the ones that have a problem with me!" The pretty young girl rolled her eyes. She crept closer to him, staring him down.

"You shouldn't let them boss you around, Vince. They think they're better than you but they aren't. Everyone is terrible- being old doesn't make you an exception."  She stopped when she was only a few inches away from her friend.   
"You're in the right."


	5. BERNADETTE

**November 13, 1986**

Vincent leaned against a pastel green wall while absentmindedly playing with his copy of the key-set that all members of the security team had been issued. His thoughts were not focused on his job like they should be, but on a woman. He had seen her two other times since that first instance at the bar and grill... And both times she disappeared into a crowd before he had a chance to be sure that it really _was_ Bernadette.

_God…_

He had to get a grip. He doubted she would be as hung up about the past as he was. He sighed, closing his pale eyes and running his fingers through his black hair. He stood still for a long moment before he felt a hand press against his. He smiled, recognizing that it belonged to a woman.

"Didn't feel like waiting for me to find you today, hm?" He opened his eyes, looking over at who he assumed was Magpie, but the person he saw looking up at him was not the attractive twenty year old he had expected. She was taller than the waitress, and a few years older. As she smiled up at him and her coffee colored eyes glittered, his heart skipped a beat. He took a step back from her, stumbling over his own feet and catching himself before he fell down. How had she found him?

"B-Bernadette!" He gasped, straightening himself up.   
"The one and only!" The brunette giggled, holding her hand over her pink mouth, "Sorry I frightened you, Vincey!" Vincent scoffed, hurriedly smoothing out the wrinkles in his lavender uniform. 

"'Frightened' me? That's ridiculous. I just..." Bernadette folded her pale hands behind her back, leaning forward.   
"Just what, Vincey? Just made a fool of yourself in front of the whole eatery?"

"I did not!" Vincent said, blushing, which made his old friend laugh again. She regained her composure and took a step back from him, putting her hands on her hips as she looked him over. After a moment, an approving smile touched her lips and she came back within reaching distance of him. She then stood up on her toes, pulling Vincent down some so she could speak directly against his ear.  
"You look good, Vincent. You're taller than I remember." Her voice was soft now; barely a whisper and her lips tickled his skin in a way that sent shivers down his spine and weakened his knees.

"…Thanks... You don't look half bad yourself…" There was a moment of quiet between them punctuated by joyous screams of children and the mechanical singing of robots. She slid her hands slowly down his body, letting them linger a little too long as she stood normally once more. He felt tingly where her fingers had touched him...

"It's been so long since I've last seen you, Vincent."   
"I know. Too long." He looked into her dark eyes and felt lonelier than he had in years.    
"Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? Say about noon?" She batted her long lashes, smiling up at the security guard. Vincent nodded hard, biting his lower lip.

"That sounds great."   
"Good!" The young lady dressed in a wine red sweater threw her arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly and pressing her face to his chest. He let out an involuntary whimper, causing her to smile. She released him too soon, jumping up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.   
"I'll meet you in the parking lot tomorrow, m'kay?" Vincent smiled, pulling at his thick hair.  
"I can't wait." He watched as she practically evaporated into the midst of the restaurant guests, still overwhelmed by an almost drunken drowsiness that always took him over when she was nearby. He stared blankly into the crowd, trying to process what had just happened to him and why it had all moved so quickly… and then the dreamlike feeling tore away from him, leaving him with a headache. Grimacing at the throbbing in his skull, he reluctantly began to make his rounds around the pizzeria… but his thoughts never turned away from Bernadette. Oh, Bernadette…

He paced the linoleum floors of the pizzeria, staring past the patrons. His hands were buried deep in his pockets and he chewed his lip thoughtfully. He wondered what she'd want to talk about. Perhaps she'd tell him where she'd gone, and if she had left because of… …Maybe she had a wonderful new life and a family she wanted to show off. But if that were the case, why would she kiss him? Or look for him, for that matter. ...Maybe... Maybe she had come to express regrets similar to his.

 _…No._ No, he couldn’t let that happen! What was he thinking? It had taken him too long to recover from her hold to just let her waltz back into his life and control him again! He couldn’t trust that she had changed. They had been kids when he last saw her, sure, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t still manipulate him in his adulthood. He knew her well and he knew that they would pick right up where they left off. He’d be miserable but convinced otherwise, all because she was forcing him to focus all of his energy on her.

He couldn’t throw away all the progress he had made. He had gotten a job, a house, and two friends since she left. He had been able to better maintain his relationship with his mother! Not to mention he had acquired quite a talent for charming women, if he did say so himself (and he did). He was doing as well as someone like him could. He couldn’t let her back in his life. And anyway, there was someone else now… A new relationship that he wanted to pursue…

If Bernadette had made him look like such an idiot in only a minute or two after more than six years of being apart, what damage could she do if he gave her all the time in the world?

His thoughts were temporarily put on hold as he noticed a disturbance near a mostly hidden corner of the party room. Two blonde teenaged boys, most likely brothers, were snickering cruelly, whispering to one another as they rifled through a canvas bag. Vincent watched them through narrowed eyes as they began to take items out of the bag and launch them at the animatronic animals and into the small group of children who were standing at the foot of the stage to watch the performance.

He almost grabbed his walkie off his belt like Matthews had suggested in case of an incident. Almost. It was a snap decision that he knew could get him in trouble. Growling, he slunk toward the teens, detaching the loop of keys from his belt and flipping through them until he found the one with the longest and most threatening blade- the key to the store room.

“Excuse me, boys,” Perse hissed, stopping in front of and startling the kids enough that they stopped throwing small scraps of garbage, “Do you mind telling me what the hell you think you’re doing?”

Their eyes went wide as he stopped in front of them, running his thumb over the teeth of the key. They were tall for their age, but Vincent still loomed over them. He flashed the boys an impossibly large smile as he looked at them expectantly, his eyes burning into their souls. They didn’t speak, choosing instead to gape at him.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

“W-we uh…” the younger of the two began, twisting the straps of the bag nervously in his hands. He wasn’t able to finish his thought, though, because his brother jumped in.

“We d-don’t have to tell ya nothin’!” His voice cracked in an unintimidating fashion, causing Vincent to chuckle.

            “That a fact?” He drawled, rotating the key in his fingers. The boys stiffened, finally noticing the dangerously sharp teeth of the key to the store room. They were in trouble.

“Y-yes!” The older boy said again, his hazel eyes filled with uncertainty, “you can’t make us tell you sh-shit!”

“Mm… Maybe not. But I _can_ take your bag, turn you in to the manager, and let him deal with you.”

“No way you’d do that!” The smaller teenager squeaked indignantly, clutching the bag protectively.

            “Would you rather _I_ deal with you?” Vincent’s eyes glittered dangerously as he bared his teeth in a cheerless grin.

 "A-are you th-threatening us?" The bigger teen attempted to scoff.  
"Oh, _heavens_ no! I'm just trying to make sure you two understand that, ah, ‘littering’ is no joke." He winked, “So what’ll it be? Me or Mister Matthews?”

The duo exchanged furious eye contact. They had developed a bad habit of picking on kids and restaurant employees. They were convinced that they were superior to everyone else in the world- perhaps because that's what their parents had always (stupidly) taught them. And now they had been caught with no one there to fight on their behalf.  

"F-fuck you!" They ran for it, pushing through the crowd and toward the door, ignoring the outraged cries of patrons that they were too rough with. Perse watched them sprint out the door, knowing he couldn’t really do anything more about it. He slowly clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling his eye twitch as a deep rage boiled in his stomach.

 _You should've taught them a lesson._ Out of nowhere, he heard Bernadette's voice ringing in the back of his head, prompting him to fight-- just like when they were kids.   
_Next time._ He promised.

…Maybe… maybe having her back wouldn’t be so bad after all…

**October 01, 1975**

"They're talking about us." Bernadette whispered, bumping against Vincent's side.   
"Who?" She nodded toward two boys standing a few feet away. They were snickering, their beady eyes flicking from person to person as the flood of students moved eagerly down the halls and toward the exits. Bernadette continued to speak.

"They don't like us." He tilted his head in confusion. He hadn't really thought much about who did or didn't like him. Bernadette, however, was always very concerned about the way people perceived them.

"Is that bad, or...?"   
"No," she sighed, "but if they aren't going to like us, they should be afraid of us." He shivered.   
"But I promi-" Bernadette whipped around to face him, her brown eyes almost black with annoyance.   
"Promised what? That you would let people walk all over you? That you would let me get hurt? What did you promise, Vincent?" He went silent, slowly tearing away from his best friend and observing the two boys who didn't like or fear them.

They weren't much taller than him, but they certainly were heavier. He recognized the one with auburn hair from his English class, but he had never seen the dark haired one before- at least, he didn't recall ever seeing him before.

"No one knows you but me, Vincey." Bernadette growled in his ear, "They think they do. Our peers think they can knock you around. Adults think they can _fix_ you. You don't need fixing." She trailed her fingers down his arm, making his skin tingle.   
"You don't need fixing," she breathed again, " _they_ do." He could feel himself growing impatient as he stared at the offenders. He wanted to lash out. She was getting him excited.

"What were they saying?" His voice shook as he spoke, making him sound surprisingly gruff for a fourteen year old. He could hear the smile in her voice.   
"They called me a slut. Said I'm just some cheap floozy who'd do anything for attention. They said you were just like your dad- running around with whores. Said you need to be locked up and drugged. Said you're crazy."

He did not see her grinning as he stormed up to the two teenagers standing in front of the row of lockers.   
"HEY!" When they first saw him, they appeared unfazed, the smirks never leaving their faces. But once he got closer, their expressions melted into an odd combination of confusion and irritation.

Vincent didn't give them any time to react. As soon as he was close enough, he lunged. He grabbed the one nearest to him by his reddish hair and slammed the back of his head as hard as he could against the locker. The bigger teen's eyes grew round with surprise and pain as he stumbled forward and toppled over, gripping the damaged zone.

The other boy went for Vincent. He swung at him, but was really too shaken by what he had just witnessed to hit his mark. Vincent easily sidestepped the blow before landing one of his own in his opponent's gut. He grunted loudly, barely having any time to recover before Vincent's knee nailed him in the groin. After the boy he had never met before had fallen, Vincent crouched down to his level, grabbing his face and forcing him to look up at him.

"Don't you fucking _dare_ talk about what you don't understand." 

 


	6. THE CONFESSION

**June 29, 1977**

"You're late." Bernadette muttered as Vincent sat down beside her on the park bench. She flicked the butt of her finished cigarette onto the ground before reopening the pack and taking out another. She held it out to him, but he shook his head.   
"Nah, thanks." She shrugged, lighting it and beginning to smoke it herself.

"Where were you." She refused to look at him. Her eyes were instead trained on the children who filled the playground, laughing, squealing, crying, and running all over the place. He didn't answer her. She knew. He could tell by the tone of her voice. She was annoyed at him. She was annoyed that he had picked someone else over her.

…He could feel them looking at him. Adults. They were staring.

"Where were you, Vincent." Why did she have to be so controlling? What could he possibly have done to keep her from trusting him? He had done nothing but blindly follow every instruction she had ever given him since they were seven years old! He had put all his faith in her from the moment they met, and she had no trust in him whatsoever. What could possibly be so... So _important_ that it couldn't wait ten minutes?

…They didn't like him. They thought he'd scare their kids.

"Vincent." She was growing more impatient with each passing second.   
"What, Bernadette?" He snapped, glaring at her, "What is it that is so damn important for me to know that I am actually in trouble for being late, huh?" She seemed taken aback. The brunette tore her attention away from the kids, redirecting her now wide-eyed stare at Vincent.   
"Excuse me?"   
"I am sick of you bossing me around all the time! Don't you think I know how to take care of myself? Don't you?" His voice was shaking now as he clenched and unclenched his fists, looking right through his oldest friend. Her eyes softened and she reached forward, resting her fingers lightly on his knee.

"Vincey, what are you talking about?" She said gently, taking the cigarette out from between her lips.   
"You- you- y-you just... God!" He threw his head back, crying out in frustration as he dragged his fingers through his hair, which was long overdue for a trim.   
"Shh, Babe... I'm sorry. I couldn't help but be mad. I worry about you."

"What's wrong with me?" He whimpered, covering his grey eyes with the backs of his hands. She clicked her tongue sadly, shaking her head.   
"Absolutely nothing. What could ever make you think that?"

 _Just about everything_. The fights. The insecurities. His reliance on Bernadette. His hate for authority. His restlessness. The concern in his poor mother's eyes. His d-- no. Don't bring him into this. He didn’t need to waste energy thinking about him. Not after what he did. Not ever.

…He wanted them to stop looking at him! He wasn't going to touch the damn brats…

"...I... I'm scared, Bernadette...."   
"I know, but you don’t need to be. I'm here. I'll take care of you. She leaned against him, slowly rubbing his outer thigh as she whispered soothingly to him.

_You're not my mother._ But did it matter?  
_You can't control me._ He needed her.   
_I don't… I don’t want…._ He loved her.   
_…I'm not crazy._ She was here to help.   
_…She… she loves me..._ She would take care of him.  
_There's nothing wrong with me..._ He could trust her.   
_…I need Bernadette._ He needed Bernadette.

 

"I would do anything for you, Vincey." She whispered against his neck, "Would you do anything for me?"   
"Yes." He croaked. He felt her grin.  
"Good boy."

They were still staring. 

 

**November 14, 1986**

Magpie gasped in surprise as Vincent sped by her. He unintentionally knocked against her, making her lose her balance. He quickly caught her wrist and up-righted her before hurrying on his way.

 

"Um, bye?" The young waitress scoffed.

 _What was that?_ Pushing past her without a word? Or even apologizing for nearly causing her to fall? That seemed like it would be a trick of his- bumping into a girl he was attracted to, catching her, and then offering a passionate apology. But he didn't even seem to register that she had been there and it felt like he had only caught her reflexively.

She shrugged, making her way back to the kitchen.  _Perse is a weird guy,_ she thought; _he probably just… wasn't entirely here…_

Vincent marched down the hall leading to the front door, his eyes focused on the exit. It was exactly twelve o'clock. He needed to see her. It hadn't really hit him how badly he needed to see her until last night. Talking to Bernadette... Feeling her so close... He flung the heavy door open, nearly squishing a young family.

"Watch it!" The father yelled out, shaking a fist. The security guard grumbled an incoherent apology, scanning the lot for the woman he was meeting. He found her sitting on the hood of his car. She noticed him staring, and wiggled her fingers in greeting. He briefly checked for traffic before darting out into the parking lot and zigzagging his way through the rows of parked vehicles until he came to his own.

"Hey." He panted, nodding in greeting to the brunette, who slid off the car.  
"You look excited!" She giggled, winking. Vincent averted his eyes while biting his lip.   
"Where do you want to go?" He asked sheepishly. Bernadette laughed again, the silvery trill tickling his ears.

"Don't be shy, Vincey~! I thought we were old friends! How about we just go to a coffee house." Vincent nodded, smiling weakly.   
"Okay."   
_That isn't really a lunch_. He thought, trying to ignore the well-timed growl of his empty stomach.

 

♠♠♠

 

Vincent looked down at the mug he held in his hands, absently staring at the dark liquid that it contained. Bernadette sat across from him, her chair almost against the wall in a corner of the café that was out of sight of people at the counter.

"Cat got your tongue, Vincent?" She asked sweetly, sipping at her drink. The tall man scratched at the scruff on his chin, shrugging.  
"No, I just- Well, It's been so long and I... well, I…" The brunette tittered.  
"Feelin’ a little _shy_ , huh? How cute~!" 

Vincent rolled his eyes.  Her laughter petered out and she reached across the table, lying her hand palm up in front of him. When she flicked her index and middle fingers in a sort of "c'mere" gesture, he put the hand not holding his coffee lightly against hers. She tickled his palm with her fingertips, smiling gently at him.

“Tell me how you’ve been, Vincey.”  He sighed, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked away from her.

“Fine… Just fine.” His voice was tired.

“Only fine?” She tilted her head to the left, watching him with wide, bright eyes. She wasn’t satisfied with his answer, “You really should give me more to go on than that, Vince. It’s been an _awfully_ long time since we last talked.” He nodded, sighing again and looking down at his hand in hers.

“Alright. Let’s see… What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your social life. Everyone you’ve been talking to, your friends… your girlfriend.” The way she had said “girlfriend” made him feel oddly uncomfortable- almost guilty.

            He thought for a moment, trying to come up with an answer that would impress her. She wouldn’t care about Chris and he knew that saying anything about his mother would only upset her. For some reason she had always hated Ruby. She hated her so much in fact, that she had refused to ever meet her. He guessed that it was because they had both had very different ideas of what was best for him. He was also unsure as to whether or not he could tell her about Magpie…

            “Hm… I’d say I’m doing pretty well in that area of my life. Obviously I have a job, and even though I don’t _love_ it, it’s mostly consistent. I’ve become friendly with some of my coworkers. Two of ‘em in particular have proven to be fun enough to hang out with outside of work.” He felt Bernadette’s gaze burning into him, but he didn’t look up to see her face. He wasn’t ready to see what she was feeling.

“Let’s see… ‘girlfriend’, huh?” He smiled to himself, “How about we just say… I like to keep my options open.” He finally looked up at her and was relieved to see that she was smiling too.  She licked her lips, moving her free hand lightly through her short hair.

“ _Ohhh~…_ ” She purred, seemingly impressed as her eyes flicked excitedly over him, “So you’ve been having a bit of _fun,_ hmm~?” He winked at her, stretching casually.

“Mm… you can _definitely_ say that.” He leaned forward again, “And how about you, Bernadette? What kind of trouble have _you_ been getting in to?” She giggled, moving her hand out of her hair and daintily covering her mouth.

“Why, Mister Perse! Is that any way to speak to a lady?” She squeezed his hand.

She squeezed his hand. In that brief gesture, everything stopped. The faint, static-like tingle where her fingers touched his was back. He stiffened, once again realizing how dangerous the territory he was entering was. He needed to stop. To pull away- so he did. He very suddenly slipped his hand away from hers and leaned away. _Slow the fuck down, Vince!_  
She furrowed her brow and tilted her head to the side, a puzzled expression on her face.

"I've been having trouble at my job." He blurted.   
"Is that what's wrong?" She seemed genuinely concerned, sitting back in her seat. He didn't answer her question.

"Freddy's initially hired me as a night guard, but they switched me over to save money or some shit. It’s this whole big thing that the company does, the corrupt bastards…"  He sighed before continuing, "Anyway… I have a tendency to... Snap. At patrons. Sometimes it's nothing more than a few sarcastic comments, other times I break a nose or threaten dumbass teens with keys. The pay might as well not exist, but… a job is a job." He sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"I'm sure they deserved it." Bernadette breathed. Vincent stopped mussing his long hair, looking at her with a hint of confusion.   
"Pardon?" The girl rolled her eyes.   
"You know what I said. You've never acted with violence unless it was necessary." The man fidgeted. 

"You… You _always_ thought it was necessary." She nodded, like he had made her point for her.  
"Exactly. Everyone who has driven you to fight thought they were better than us- and they needed to be taken down a notch." Bernadette ran her tongue delicately over her soft lips, leaning forward once again.   
"That aggression of yours was always sort of... _exciting_."

Vincent was growing tenser with each word she spoke. He felt like this was going somewhere uncomfortable. Somewhere he didn't really want to go. But by God, if Bernadette was going he was coming with. There was little doubt in his mind about that.

She just had this way about her that made him want to please her. And when they were kids, she probably could've asked him to k--  
"I think that was part of what drew me to you. Not when we were little, of course, but around fourteen or fifteen." He put down his mug. He needed to relax. He was an adult now. He didn't need or want to follow her around like a puppy, showing his belly at any given moment and jumping through hoops to make sure he still had her attention. He wanted to move on. He wanted to be done with her. Being with her would take him about a hundred steps backwards. He couldn’t let her have him, he couldn’t have her. It was what was best for his life, he knew that.

"I still want you, Vincent." She whispered, showing him a hopeful smile. He jumped out of his seat, practically falling backwards as his knee knocked against the table. He barely saved the ceramic mug from shattering onto the floor. All eyes turned to him. He stared down the small handful of other customers, daring them to question what had just happened. Slowly, the dull chatter resumed as everyone turned back to their drinks and conversations. Vincent didn't sit back down, but he looked back at the girl seated at his table.

"What the fuck, Bernadette! _We were teenagers_! We didn't know _shit_! I don't even remember us exchanging an 'I love you'!" She seemed hurt. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were full of disbelief.  
"Are you saying you don't miss me? Not at _all_?" He hesitated and that was enough for her.   
"What we had was good, Vincent. It was more than good! Don't you want to give it a second shot?" 

"God, why did I agree to this?" He hissed, grabbing his jacket off the empty chair next to him.   
_Because I miss her._

"Get your stuff. I'm going back to work. I'll drop you off so you can get back to your car."   
"Don't be like that, Vincey!" She smiled again, though it looked as though she were barely masking her anger.  
"Bernadette." This was only the second time she had heard him use such a serious tone.   
"...Fine." She spat. She grabbed her things and marched out after the tall man in the black jacket, stopping briefly to wait as he paid for the drinks and apologized for his outburst.

The two walked out the door and down the sidewalk in complete silence. They only spoke again once they reached his parking space. 

"I saw you, you know." Vincent wouldn’t look at Bernadette as she spoke.   
"When I kissed your cheek. I saw your reaction. You practically swooned."   
"I don't swoon." As they got to his car, he pulled open the passenger door for her, gesturing for her to climb inside. But before she got in his car, Bernadette reached up, grabbed Vincent's face, and kissed him hard.

He didn't react immediately, mainly because of surprise. When her lips touched his, he felt static coursing through his veins- like his whole body had fallen asleep. Before he knew it, he was kissing her back, the tingling numbness flooding him and making him sleepy.

Something in the back of his mind was desperately shrieking at him to stop. But he couldn't. She had him again. It… It would be nicer this time. They could be happy! He knew how to keep his more unsavory emotions on the down-low, anyway…

 


	7. THE BITE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, guys, from here on out it gets pretty graphic. There's been some minor violence throughout, but it turns into a real bloodbath here and it doesn't get any better as you go on.

**March 10, 1979**

Ruby's hand caught her son's arm as he sped toward the door, stopping him in his tracks.  
"Where are you going, Vincent?"  
The teenager sighed, turning back to look at his mother. He was struck by how worried she looked. Her eyes were brimming with concern, her brow was furrowed, and she was chewing the knuckle of her left thumb (a nervous habit of hers). He gave her a weak smile and said the first place he thought of.

 "Fredbear's Diner." Ruby blinked, her expression shifting to surprise.  
"Aren't you a little old for Fredbear?" She asked carefully. She still hadn't let go of his arm. His smile faltered.  
"N-no one's too old for Fredbear!"  _Weak._  
The dark haired woman snorted.   
"I suppose that's true. But… I wish you'd stop lying to me." He was quiet for a long time.  
"...I'm going to meet a friend." There was that worry again. She gazed at her son with sadness.   
"Which friend?" An unnecessary question; She knew the answer already, so he didn't reply. Ruby groaned, releasing Vincent's arm. He did not leave. He knew she had more to say.

"I'd like you to do a few things for me."   
"...Like what?" 

She chewed her knuckle harder, wincing momentarily and moving her hand away from her mouth. The teenager blew his hair out of his eyes and crossed his arms, beginning to feel queasy.   
"I'd like you to talk to someone. About your anger." Vincent scoffed, shifting his weight from foot to foot.  
"What anger?" Something dangerous flashed in Ruby's eyes, though her voice and stance remained calm.

"'What anger'? Vincent, you've been suspended four times in six years! You're always in and out of detention, you come home with bloody noses and split lips! You're defensive and aggressive! You never let anything go!" Her lip began to quiver.  
"I hear you in your room. Talking, convincing yourself that everything you've done is justified, and yelling into pillows. ...Vincent... I’ve heard you cry."

"…I… I don’t cry." His voice was a hoarse whisper as he broke eye contact with his parent, looking down at his shoes.  Ruby shook her head.   
"I really think it would help if you saw someone; if you talked it out."  
"I have Bernadette for that." The older woman rubbed her temples.  
"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." His head snapped up, his wild hair flying back into his eyes. 

"What, Bernadette?" Ruby nodded.  
"I think... _she's_ ...brought the worst out in you. I think... _she's_ ...encouraging you to hurt people." Tears were beginning to flow now as Vincent's heart all but stopped. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Bernadette- Bernadette is my friend, Mom! She's more than my friend! She wouldn't let me do anything wrong!" He could feel himself shaking as he took a step away from his crying mother. 

"Well, I've never met her and it sounds to me like she and I have very different opinions about keeping you safe."  
"I'm not just some kid, _Mother_. I don't need you to protect me!"   
"What are you talking about? You've always needed me in one way or another! This... _girl_ can't possibly care about you _that_ much if she's been trying to get you kicked out of school!"   
"You have no idea what you're talking about." He could feel his hands curl into fists as Ruby's desperate words pelted him.

"Of course I do!" She cried, grabbing her son's shoulders.   
"Will and I got married when we were nineteen! And he was the only person I ever dated! I missed the red flags, Vincent. They were everywhere, but I missed them because I thought I was in love. I don't want this person to interfere with your potential happiness!" The boy's heart dropped into his stomach. 

He slowly looked back into Ruby's eyes and the genuine pain he saw there hit him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to explain to her that Bernadette was different, that she cared about him above all else, that he was in love with her, and that he only fought to protect her pride. But he couldn't.

Ruby had always been so strong. And seeing her break down like this- hearing her compare him and Bernadette to herself and William- he knew he was going to give in. Even though he was sure that he and Bernadette were perfect and even though he was sure he didn't need to "talk to someone". He pulled his mother to him, hugging her gently.   
"O-okay, Mom. Okay..." 

 

**November 21, 1986**

Vincent awoke to a strangely familiar taste in his mouth. He blinked sleepily, trying to identify the coppery flavor. He licked his lips and realized they were wet. Carefully, he pressed his index and middle finger against his mouth, cringing at the warm stickiness of whatever was on his face.

He pulled his hand back and sat up as he immediately saw the long strands of blood connecting his fingers to his mouth. His whole hand was coated in the stuff. As he stared at the glistening rubies, he felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He flung himself out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, flipping on light as he went. This turned out to be a mistake, as he now felt like he was staring into the sun.

He finally made it to the bathroom. He grabbed the counter top with shaking, blood-stained hands and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was plastered to his face with the red liquid and it was dribbling steadily downwards in tiny streams that crisscrossed his face. It was trickling from his mouth as well. He noticed that his bare arms were soaked to the elbows and that his chest was also splattered with the stuff. He felt like he was about to vomit. The stench was overwhelming and his whole body quaked.

Slowly, his reflection began to change. The person in the mirror blinked, tilted his head slightly to the right, and smiled. He gave Vincent a friendly wave before his face contorted into a mess of torn flesh and wires. The reflection lunged forward, breaking through the glass and reaching toward him. Right as his hands (which were punctured by what looked like metal springs) wrapped around Vincent's bloodied neck, the man's eyes flew open.

He looked around his bedroom, breathing heavily. His hands flew to his throat, checking for any damage. He found none. He also noted that he was not soaked in blood. He sat still for a long time with his hands buried in his tangled hair, staring at nothing. Once he got his breathing under control, he checked the time.

It was fifteen minutes past five. He might as well get up now. He glanced over to the other side of his bed and felt mildly disappointed when he saw that Bernadette had left. He knew she wouldn't be there anyway, but he had still sort of hoped... Ah, well. If it hadn't been his home (or her) he would've done the same. He swung himself out of bed, and winced as he stepped on something hard and plastic. He looked down at the little orange bottle and remembered the brief conversation about it from the night before.

_"What's this?" Bernadette picked up an almost empty pill bottle._  
"Still taking them, huh? I have to say I’m a little disappointed, Vincey." Vincent scoffed.   
"'Course not! I’m sick of ‘em. I haven’t taken any in weeks. I just sorta… forgot about the bottle."   
Bernadette checked the label and saw that they were expired. She seemed relieved, smiling at him before tossing them aside.

 

He sighed, picking up the bottle and tossing it in a small trash bin in the corner of his room.

                

♠♠♠

 

"You okay, Perse? You l-look t-tired." Chris offered Vincent a small smile, tilting his head. The day guard scoffed, pushing his hair back.   
"I'm fine and dandy, Backer. Why do you care? You should mind your own damn business." Chris was taken aback.   
"Excuse me?" Vincent narrowed his grey eyes, sizing up the redhead.   
"Are you looking for trouble?" He growled.   
"No? Vincent, w-what is wrong with you?"  
"Aaabsolutely nothing!" He threw his hands out as if exasperated.  
"Look at me, do you see anything wrong?"

The freckled man briefly considered pointing out that Vincent looked like he was about to be sick, but considering how weirdly he was acting, he decided against it. Chris decided to change the subject.

"So the, uh, the b-building's going under renovations next week, huh? That's... I heard they're up-updating the animatronics." He waited for a response. When he got none, he laughed awkwardly.  
"Maybe now they'll be less, um, less p-per-persnickety, huh?"  
"...Yeah. Are you going home, or what?"   
"Oh. Ye-yeah, you're right. I should probably do that." Vincent muscled past him, throwing his stuff down on the desk in the security room before plopping down in the chair and laying his head down on the desk.

"...Maybe you sh-sh-should take a day or two off, P-Perse. You r-really look awful."   
"Goodbyyye."   
"Right, uh, bye." Chris left the office, done with his first night as temporary night guard.

Vincent let out a long sigh as his mind returned to thoughts of Bernadette. God, had he been stupid to let her go! It had only been a few days since they had begun seeing each other again, but in a way it felt like they had never been apart. All he wanted was to get through the day to see her again.

Still three hours til opening... Morning security had to arrive by the time the night crew got off at six, but the rest of the staff didn't show up until eight. And despite opening time, guests usually didn't arrive before early afternoon. He wouldn't get to go home until at least ten at night.

Slowly, Vincent got out of the rolling desk chair and wandered out of the office. He shambled down the hall with his hands in his pockets, his eyes examining everything they landed on. Eventually, he ended up in the show room. He stood at the base of the stage, staring up at Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica.

"Tch. Look at you three. You're filthy. There's pizza grease in your fur, Fazbear. The little assholes should know better than to wipe their grimy hands on friends." He shook his head slowly, looking over at the smaller stage where the original "Golden" Fredbear was kept for pictures and small-scale performances. 

"And you, Fredbear. I remember seeing you when I was small. That was a treat, wasn't it? Mom pulled a lot of strings to make that happen. …Damn, you're _old_ , then, aren't you? I guess that's why your eye's stuck like that." He gestured at Golden Fredbear's left eye, which had been caught in mid blink for weeks. The lid was constantly clicking and fluttering as it tried to break free and the blue bulb that made his eyes light up was out, making them both look dark and disturbingly vacant.

"Kids today don't get how lucky they are if they treat you guys this shitty."   
He paused for a second. That was an oddly uncharacteristic statement. "Kids today"? When did he become a crotchety old man? And why was he so pissed about this? These silly robots were ancient! It wasn't solely the children who had made this mess. And why the hell was he talking to them, anyway?

"Whatever. I'll see you later. Get some rest while you still can." He turned away, rubbing his temples. He continued his walk around the building.   
_Maybe Chris is right about me not seeming my best._

That thought was immediately pushed out of his head. He heard Bernadette instead. She explained to him once again that "they" were in the wrong. That he was perfectly fine and how ridiculous it was that it was only the two of them who understood that.

His thoughts were directed back to the lovely brunette. How perfect she was. Perfect, smart, beautiful, wonderful Bernadette. No other woman he had ever been with compared to her. She was in a league of her own! At the thought of her, his desire to leave work became unbelievably strong.

As the day went on, his level of distraction got out of control. He couldn’t even bring himself out of his daydreams long enough to greet Magpie when she passed by or assist customers who actually had sensible questions for him. He knew he needed a break. He had to come back to reality, if only for a few hours. He now stood in an “employees only” bathroom, staring into a mirror.

"Relaaax, Perse. She's just a girl. You've had girlfriends before. Hell, you've even had _this_ girlfriend before!" He cupped his hands under the running faucet and brought cool water up to his face. He splashed the warm spots around his eyes, and combed the rest of it through his hair, groaning with relief.

"Thaaat's better. Don't worry now. She's not even here. Just... Act like you always do..." He took a deep breath, and then smiled at his reflection. He looked perfectly calm and perfectly charming. Maybe he ought to look for Miss Erikson and-

 _Don't you dare even look at another woman. You're mine_. He flinched, immediately apologizing to Bernadette despite the fact that she was nowhere in sight. It didn't take him very long to get back to the mindset he had just recaptured. He strolled out of the restroom and headed back to his post.

Suddenly, two children streaked by him. He recognized them as the manager's grandchildren, Alexander and David.  Alex, the older of the two, was wearing one of the cheap Foxy masks you can get with half a dozen tickets at the prize corner. He was relentlessly chasing his little brother around the restaurant, and poor David looked like he was on the verge of tears.

The younger boy accidentally ran smack into Vincent, falling hard on his rear. Alex laughed, turning away and skipping back to his birthday party. Vincent crouched down to get on the curly haired boy's level. 

"You okay, kiddo?" David nodded, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.  
"Yes, S-sir."   
"You sure?"   
"Yes, Sir." Vince tilted his head, biting his lip.   
"Alright, I believe you... Has he been bothering you all afternoon?" He pointed to Alex who was barely visible behind the mass of gifts at his table.   
"Yes... But 's only 'cause his friends are here. W-when we get home I'll go in my room and he'll leave me alone. P-prob'ly."

"Okay, if you're sure... Why don't you go have fun, David? You can earn tickets for a Plushy or see Foxy at Kid's Cove." The small boy hesitated, and Vince chuckled.   
"Or, if you'd rather, I'm sure your granddad will let you stay with him in his office- as long as you ask first." The child immediately brightened.   
"O-okay! Bye, Mister!" He turned around and began hurrying toward Matthews' office.   
"See you later, Kiddo."

 

 

**December 09, 1986**

"Look, Backer," Matthews sighed, massaging his temples, "I know you're concerned 'bout Perse. Erikson has been pesterin' me with th’ same stuff. But he's a grown-ass man! Jus' stop gettin' caught up in business tha’ isn't yours." Chris' frown deepened. He wiped his glasses nervously on his shirt, staring down at his thumb as it pushed the fabric over the lens. 

"Well, M-Mister Matthews, uh, Sir... We're... N-not really being nosy. Magpie and, uh, and I see him as sort of a friend and w-with the, uh, way he's acting... Well, it's not safe." He put his frames back before continuing.   
"Ever since that t-t-ti-time where he b-broke the guy's nose-"   
"God, don't remind me."   
"-he's been weird. He's r-restless, shaky. All, um, anxious and defensive. He snaps at, uh, at, uh, at everyone. I think the day shift is too s-stressful for him." Matthews laughed, grinding the end of an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

"'Stressful'?! This is a fuckin' _family theme restaurant_! All he's gotta do ‘s make sure kids don't get hurt!" He pressed the heels of his hands into his brow.   
"Perse isn't goin' ta be coddled, Backer. He's either gonna suck it up, or he's gonna leave. Tha's it."  
"But what about the night sh-"   
"I hired tha’ little jumpy kid who came in a few days ago. The blonde one. Said he knew you." Chris blinked.  
" _Jeremy_ applied for the night shift?"   
"Yeah. So forget ‘bout Perse. He's gonna do th’ job he's got now or nothin' at all. Do I make myself clear?"   
"Crystal..."   
"We'll move' ya back ta th’ day shift as soon as we're back in business."

 

**December 20, 1986**

Bernadette stretched, letting out a soft moan before curving her body back into Vincent's. Every time her skin brushed his, he was overwhelmed by a sense of numbness that he had never felt with anyone else... That numbing, static-like rush pulsing through whatever part of him she had touched.

"It's so nice to have you all to myself for such a long time." She mewed, gazing up at Vincent with adoring eyes. He responded by kissing her forehead while pushing her silky bangs back from her face. His gaze roamed her form, resting for a minute on a pattern on her shoulder. He had noticed it a while ago, but only now had he really thought to ask about it.

"How long've you had this?" He ran his thumb lightly across the tattoo. It was pretty- a small butterfly resting lightly on her milky skin. It was the same coffee brown as her eyes...   
"The moth? Oh, I got it as soon as I was out of high school." She bit her lip in a smile, "Do you like it?" He nodded and she closed the gap between them, brushing her lips against his. He returned her gentle kiss, slipping his arms around her to draw her nearer.

"Did you miss me, Vincent?" She asked sweetly, touching her nose to his. He didn’t waste any time in answering, his voice hitching slightly as he spoke. 

"Yes." Her smile seemed smug.   
"Good." She kissed him again, trailing her hands lightly up his abdomen. He grinned into the kiss, pulling her hard against him.   
"Would... You do... Anything... For me... Baby?" She breathed between kisses, burying her fingers in his hair. Vincent chuckled. 

"Depends~." She stiffened suddenly. 

"Only depends?" His heart sank at her tone. He sat up quickly, looking down at her and biting his lip hard.

"Well, I--" Bernadette sighed as if she were disappointed. She crossed her arms, staring up at Vincent with those beautiful dark eyes.  
"Now, Vincey" she said, obviously annoyed, "if this is going to work between us, we have to be on the same page." 

"...W... What do you mean?" Vincent said slowly, wringing his hands.   
"I mean that you have to trust me completely." She sat up, leaning forward just a touch. His eyes flicked up and down her body, trying to take in every little detail.

"Didn't I always take care of you when we were younger?" She had always been there. Always... When he felt most alone. She had always understood him.   
"Yes."   
"Wasn't I always there when you needed me?" She had always been by his side. She knew him better than he knew himself. She knew what was best.   
"Yes."   
"Didn't I always make sure you felt special~?" Did he... Could he be... Was he...? No... No, that was--! 

 _...Fuck._    
"Yes." He felt like his throat was closing up. Every time he spoke his voice grew more and more hoarse.   
"So, would you do anything for me?"   
"Yes." She smirked, kissing his cheek.   
"Good boy. That's all I wanted to hear."

 

**January 10, 1987**

"Hey, Perse..." Chris said quietly from the doorway of the backroom, "W-what are you doing, um, back here?" Vincent didn't turn to face his coworker.   
"I needed a break." He replied flatly.   
"Oh." The redhead scratched awkwardly at his cheek, letting his blue eyes wander aimlessly around the dark room.  
"You've... B-been taking a lot of, uh, those lately, huh?"   
"Why do you care."

He was staring hard into the hollow eye sockets of the "Spring" Bonnie head on the shelf in front of him. The old yellow rabbit had been converted into a less-than-practical suit that the human entertainers could wear around the restaurant. It was a lot of work to put on and hardly even worth wearing, seeing as any wrong move could seriously injure the person inside. Over the past few days, Vincent had mastered helping other people into the "costume" (though they did often complain through the whole process).

Bernadette had suggested that maybe he didn't snap the gears _exactly_ into place one day. That’d shut them up. The only animatronic to come out of the renovations intact was Fredbear, and even he wasn't quite the same. They had jazzed him up so he looked more like the too-pretty “toys” that now ran the place. He didn't like them. They stared. 

"Magpie says she hasn't s-seen you in a, uh, a while." Chris continued, "That's kinda-" Vincent whipped around to face him.   
"'Kinda' what? What, Backer? What about my _attitude_ is bothering you now?"

Chris took a step backward, his eyes round with shock. Vincent looked terrible. His hair was tangled and greasy, hanging in front of his bloodshot eyes like a veil. His skin was waxy- it looked like he had lost a few pounds, and his hand was shaking ever so slightly as he continuously moistened his lips.

This was the first time that Chris had seen Vincent up-close in weeks. He had only shown up during the remodeling when he was specifically called in, and the whole time he was there he seemed so anxious about getting back home that he ignored everyone around him.   
His eyes were so... Blank. Empty. Chris had never seen someone who looked that numb before.

Every possibility as to what could have happened ran through his head. He had always known that something about Vincent was off, but he had never expected him to be like _this_. Something was seriously wrong.

"Per-- Vincent," Backer began carefully, taking another step backward, "did something happen? Y-yo-you look... A l-little sick. M-Magpie and I are j-ju-just concerned about your... Um... Safety." Vincent had flinched when Chris mentioned the pretty waitress. Why was that? He thought he liked her, with the way that he had been so relentlessly pursuing her over the past few months.

"I'm perfectly fine." He spoke slowly, blinking back the clouds in his grey irises.   
"Huh?" Vincent smiled at his coworker. It was a desperate kind of smile.  
"I found someone. And I'm fine." He was still shaking. Chris furrowed his brow, rubbing his chin slowly.   
"I- I don't think I understand." He said. Vincent sighed, sounding almost dreamy as he continued to talk in a hushed tone.   
"I don't really either, Chris. But she wouldn't lie to me."

Chris' confused silence was broken by the sound of sobbing a little ways off.   
"HE WANTS TO GET CLOSER!" A familiar child's voice squealed. His exclamation was followed by the cruel laughter of several other children.   
"NO I DON'T!" Another kid, the one who was crying, was begging the others to put him down, pleading with them to stop the joke.

"Are- Is that David Matthews?" Chris asked. Before he had time to say anything else, Vincent was pushing past him, hurrying out into the diner to put an end to whatever shenanigans were going on. What he saw when he looked toward the stage where Fredbear (now known as "Goldie") was "singing", he went cold. Alex Matthews, oldest grandson of the manager, along with a group of his friends, were hoisting his younger brother up to the open mouth of the animatronic. They were too close! 

"HE WANTS TO GIVE FREDBEAR A BIG KISS!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" He didn't even make it three quarters of the way to the stage. The delighted squeals of dozens of kids turned into screams of horror as the robotic bear's jaw crunched down on David's head. It only paused for a moment, whirring loudly, before continuing its song which was now warped by the blockage of its speakers. The toys threw themselves into the chaos, desperately trying to identify a threat within the crowd. They simply increased the panic as they chased after toddlers in a hopeless attempt to comfort and protect them.

Alex's hands fell away from his brother's sides, but his eyes were locked on his twitching body.   
"...David...?"

 _I've always loved the color red._...Bernadette...?

Vincent leaped onto the stage, tearing open the panel on the animatronic’s back and slamming his hand down on the emergency “off” switch. The mechanical maw ceased to move and the security guard struggled to pull the young boy free without causing any further damage.

 _It's gorgeous, isn't it? Especially when it's dark like that..._...Bernadette...

"Oh... Shit." It wasn't a pretty sight. David's forehead was crumpled in on itself, almost like a crushed can or a partially deflated balloon. Blood dribbled from his mouth and nose as well as into his eyes, which were frozen half open.

 _You said you'd do anything for me. Do you remember that?_...Yes.

"Is he okay?" Alex whimpered, craning to look at the mangled mess of his brother while the rest of his friends either started crying or stood in stunned silence.

_I just love that color._

"Is David okay?!" Alex wailed again, desperately tugging on Vincent's shirt.

_What would you do for me?_

Vincent managed to tear his eyes away from the damaged seven year old. He stared out into the crowd of people who were being guided out of the building as they yelled and cried. Chris was on the phone, presumably with 911. Magpie was standing outside the kitchen, a tray shaking in her hands as her eyes met his. Matthews was coming out of his office. Finally, he stared down at Alexander who was completely panicked.

"IS MY BROTHER OKAY?!" He was trying to touch David, but Vincent held him just out of reach.   
"You knew better than to go past the line." His voice was too calm as he tapped the "DO NOT CROSS" marker on the stage with his foot, "You knew better."

He could hear her egging him on. She wanted him to punish the little bastard. He knew better! He knew better! HE KNEW BETTER! Matthews was running toward them now.

"I-s D-Da-David... Okay?" The older boy choked. His pale eyes were overflowing with tears. His friends had been dragged off by their parents. How could he be so stupid?! How could he do this?! He knew the rule! He knew not to get so close! He knew his brother was afraid!  
"What do you think, Alex? WHAT DO YOU THINK?"

 _He needs to be punished, Vincent. This poor boy is too young to suffer._ Seven years old and his life was ruined. …Wait.  

...He hardly even knew this kid!   
Why was he having such a strong reaction? Surely, this was just a mistake; a dreadful, disgusting mistake. How could he be s-

 _Punish him, Vincent!_ -o concerned? He had no relationship to David! He was just the boss' grandkid! This didn't affect him at all! Without thinking, Vincent grabbed Alex by the hair, holding him in place as he leaned forward just enough to show him David. He wouldn't let him turn away. He kept him still, despite the obvious raw emotional pain and nausea that this child was feeling.

"DOES HE LOOK OKAY TO YOU?" Alexander was openly bawling now.  
"I- I- I- I D-DIDN'T MEAN TO! I DIDN'T M-MEAN TO-O-O!"   
"TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! DOES HE LOOK OKAY TO YOU!" Matthews was here now. He was saying something to Vincent. He couldn't hear him. He could see that he was upset. He pulled Vincent off of Alex, who was then picked up and carried out of the dining room by Chris.

_He isn't suffering enough. You promised you would do anything for me, Baby! Oh, Vincey, why won't you make me happy?_

Matthews pried David from Vincent, leaving him standing on the stage, his chest stained with blood, his arms still out as if he was holding something. His head was spinning as his boss yelled something and then sped toward the sound of sirens. His ears were ringing.

She was making him anxious again. What did she need so desperately? He was doing his best! He wanted to make her proud. He wanted to be able to go home and tell her that he did exactly what she would've wanted. That the whole time he was here he was trying to figure out what she would have said.

He dropped to his knees suddenly, gripping the edge of the stage so hard his knuckles went white. He could see Magpie stumbling toward him right before he began to throw up. She was behind him impossibly fast. He could feel her shaking as she rubbed his back, trying to calm him down with gentle words. His head hurt so badly.

_That's such a pretty shade of red..._

...Bernadette had always been a sucker for that color. 


	8. PERSE VS. MATTHEWS

**April 16, 1979**

Vincent fidgeted in his seat, looking around the waiting room nervously. It was small and tidy, the walls decorated with plaques honoring the man who worked here as well as drawings done by young children. It was well-lit, setting a comfortable mood for the anxious kids and teens who were apparently in and out of this place at all times.

The setting seemed pleasant, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel a bit out of sorts. He was afraid of what they'd make of him. Part of him knew something was at least a little wrong. But he wasn't crazy. Not at all. He was perfectly sane. Bernadette would tell him if he wasn't. She could tell. She was smart. So smart...

...She would be unhappy if she found out he was here. She'd probably go cold like she sometimes did, when he made a mistake. She'd avoid him. Wouldn't talk to him. He hated when she did that. He needed her close! He didn't want to be without her if he could help it. He--

He suddenly thought of his mother. His poor mother, worrying about him all alone... All alone.

He had to do this for her. He loved Bernadette, but his mother deserved some peace of mind. He would do this for her, so that she would feel that he was safe. Maybe he could even prove to her that he was alright! Maybe...

His attention was caught by someone looking at him. A girl of about fourteen with short blonde hair and tired blue eyes. She was too skinny. Her clothes hung loosely from her frame, slipping off her boney shoulders to expose her freckled skin. She was watching him. He stared back at her, grey eyes meeting watery blue ones with a bizarre intensity.

Why was she staring at him? What did she want? Did she somehow know him? Was she going to say anything? Questions raced through his head, not a single one finding a suitable answer. The trance was only broken by the woman behind the desk. 

"Vincent W. Perse?" With effort, he dragged his eyes away from the strange girl.   
"That's me." He said, putting on a charming smile. She smiled back, nodding toward the door behind her just as a young boy wandered out.   
"It's your turn." 

 

**February 06, 1987**

"I'm... I'm glad you could all make it ta this meetin'." Jacob Matthews' voice was hoarse. His fingers were worrying an unlit cigarette to the point where it was damp with sweat, but he hardly noticed. He took a deep, shaky breath before continuing.

"W-well... Due ta th' tragic event o' last month... Along wi' a few technical problems such as Th' Mangle an' th' Toys' new aggression toward adults... Well, it doesn't look good f'r us."

The remaining crew of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza was silent. Half the wait staff and two out of the three entertainers had left by now as well as their best mechanic. Publicity had been terrible lately and the already-low salaries had shrunk significantly. This talk was long overdue.

Nervous eye contact was being exchanged between the employees. All except Vincent. He was standing in the back of the room, slouched against the wall as he scratched absent-mindedly at the back of his hand. He wasn't listening to what was being said. His mind was at home, stuck on Bernadette's recent troubling behavior.

She was growing more distant and it scared him. She ignored any advances he made and she had come up with a new hobby-- getting him worked up in one way or another, then suddenly losing interest in him. She would shower him with affection and then turn cold, or get him excited and then decide she was bored... She had started tearing him down and then would draw back suddenly, as if she had only been messing around. It was distressing.

He had been losing sleep again. He had known this would happen, partly because of the absence of his medication, but he didn't dare refill his prescription while he was with Bernadette. She resented him for taking pills in the first place. A part of him suspected it was all about control. If something else was in charge, directing his emotions and ability to think, then she couldn’t be. But he would never tell her that. God, she hated those pills!

 _Because you don't need help. You're perfectly fine the way you are!_ Her voice again. It had been a long time since it had just been him. Despite the anxiety he was feeling about her and how their relationship might be affected, he was glad to have her with him- even if she wasn't always standing beside him.

He only wished he knew why she was so angry with him. He had been good, listening to everything she said, staying faithful, and being considerate of her feelings. This had seemingly come out of nowhere! It was almost as though-- No. No, that was ridiculous! She hadn't been there when the bite had happened. She only knew what he had told her. How could she possibly be angry about thoughts he had not even shared? Even if they had been in her voice, she couldn't know about them. ...Could she?

Either way, there was nothing he could've done. Those kids were not his responsibility. Of course, it could be argued that it was his job to keep as many patrons as safe as possible, but Alexander came here almost every day and knew the rules. He was at fault here.

 _And so you should have punished him! Have I not made that clear?_ He flinched.

"Perse, are ya payin' attention?!" Matthews shouted suddenly, slamming his fist down on the table. Vincent blinked, focusing his grey eyes and turning his head to look at his boss.   
"Oh, I’m sorry. I was under the impression that whatever horseshit that was coming out of your mouth was not worth noting." He said coolly. Magpie and Chris exchanged nervous glances. He was getting worse. They had both noticed the constant twitching of his right hand, which had started a few days before the incident. It was trembling harder now as he stared at Matthews with distaste.

"Excuse me?" The big man spat, almost astonished. Vincent shrugged, blowing a strand of his unkempt hair out of his eyes.  
"You heard me." The manager let out a short bark of irritated laughter.   
"Y'know, Perse, you've _really_ been a pain 'n my ass lately. Would it kill ya ta shut th' hell up 'n stop bein' such a little bitch?" The room was deadly silent. Mistakes were being made. No one could bring themselves to look at either Perse or Matthews. Most kept their eyes trained on their shoes as they sat in uncomfortable quiet.

_How dare he disrespect you! Are you going to let him get away with it?_

"Now, _Sir_ ," Vincent hissed, the word "Sir" emphasized to show how little he really thought of the man in charge, "that wasn't very nice. Are you sure you want to throw around names?"

_Gooood boy. Stay strong. Don't let him push you around._

"Wha' was tha', a _threat_?" The manager scoffed, squeezing his unlit cigarette in his fist, "Don't you forget your place, 'ere! I'm in charge, got tha', Shithead?"

_He's persisting. What a shame. You know what you have to do when someone won't back down, don't you?_

"There we go with the nasty comments again." Vincent sighed, "Honestly, how do you expect anyone to respect you if you talk to them like that, hm? Certainly not by your management style. That'd be..." He snickered, "well, laughable!" Everyone else trapped between the two of them cringed.

"Do ya think you could do a better job, Perse? You can't even do th' one ya got now!" His voice was guttural, thick with rage and disgust. He was under attack! By the son of a bitch who played a part in the mutilation of one of his grandchildren and the traumatization of another. 

"If you had been doin' your job, David wouldn't be 'n a coma!" Chris started to interject in an attempt to defend his friend, but Magpie bumped him hard, desperately warning him against becoming involved.

 _Are you just going to let him blame you for what happened to that poor child? It wasn't your fault he got hurt! But it_ was _your fault the other brat didn't get what he deserved._ Vincent laughed again, more shrilly this time as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.   
"You're pinning this on me? _Me_? HA!" He finally straightened up, coming away from the wall and standing directly behind the row of chairs set up in front of the table.

"They aren't MY children, Matthews! It wasn't MY responsibility to teach the older one to not bully other kids!" It wasn't just his hand twitching now. Tiny shock waves were pulsing through his body as he stood there with anger boiling in his chest.

"You were the bullying type, weren't you?" Vincent continued, sneering at his boss, "I know by the way you carry yourself. You liked to shit on other kids' good moods! You got a kick out of tearing ‘em down. And no one ever stood up to you, either. I can tell. You haven't been humbled." His voice was creaking with aggression, "And so you connected to that little prick and didn't train away the desire to make anyone different from him miserable. AND LOOK WHERE IT'S GOTTEN YOU!"

"Oh, awful lot ya know 'bout raisin' children! Look at th' way ya turned out! Must've had some pretty SHIT-PARENTS f'r ya ta become th' TOTAL FUCK-UP tha' ya're!" There was genuine pain in his eyes. Vincent had struck a nerve. He was falling apart. All he could do now, though, was save his pride and try as hard as he could to keep his thoughts from wandering back to the image of David... Crumpled... Tiny... Covered in blood. Being used to guilt his brother. It wasn't fair! Not to anyone. Vincent could barely hear what Bernadette was saying anymore. He felt nothing but an intense hatred pounding in his brain.

"You don't talk about my parents." He whispered. He couldn't stop shaking. He was cold. He wanted to throw up.   
"You don't _ever_ talk about my parents! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!"

 _Hurt him._ Matthews could tell he was in dangerous waters now, but it was too late to back down even if he wanted to.

 _You can take him._ Panic was spreading through the small group of spectators. This was spiraling out of control. Several of them had been avoiding both Perse and Matthews lately.

_He doesn't know you. He doesn't understand you._

Their boss because of how he dealt with his pain (cussing them out), and the security guard... They were scared of him. Few of the employees there had noticed him until now, and those who had didn't trust him from the beginning. Now he was completely unpredictable, violently shifting from unpleasant mood to unpleasant mood at seemingly nothing.

 _Only I understand you. Do this for me._ Matthews was still going.   
"Aw, did I hurt your feelin's, Perse? Did I say somethin' tha' made you mad? Huh? Wha' 'bout your upbringin' is such a bummer, huh? Was Mommy a slut? Huh? Was Daddy a drinker? Maybe they beat ya or cheated on each other. Maybe they were fuckin' stoned all th' time! THAT WOULD EXPLAIN AN AWFUL LOT!" That was it. He was done. The line had been crossed and there was no going back.

_Hurt him. Make him suffer._

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO TALK ABOUT THEM!" Vincent charged ahead, vaulting over the table and slamming into the older man, knocking him to the ground. Screams broke out as many people jumped to their feet, running about in confusion. The two men tore at each other, Matthews spewing profanities as they each landed several blows. Vincent was still rambling. 

"YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT! YOU DON'T! YOU DON'T!" He dragged his fingernails across the side of his opponent's neck before he suddenly felt himself being pulled away.   
"GET OFF ME!" He shrieked, thrashing wildly, still trying to get back to the manager who was now struggling to sit up. He wasn't done with him.   
"GET OFF ME! I'M NOT DONE! I'M NOT DONE WITH THIS FILTHY FUCKING LIAR!"

"Oh my god, he's crazy!" One of the waiters exclaimed. Vincent's head snapped toward him, his eyes glittering with malice.

"I AM NOT! I'M NOT CRAZY! I'M NOT CRAZY! I'M NOT! DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME! NEVER TALK ABOUT ME! YOU DON'T KNOW ME! STOP TOUCHING ME! GET OFF OF ME! LET ME GO!" he was still howling as Chris, an entertainer, and one of the other security guards dragged him out of the conference area.

♠♠♠

 

Magpie turned her head away the moment she recognized the man who had entered the kitchen. She stared at the empty platter she was cleaning like it was the most interesting thing she had ever seen. She felt Vincent beside her suddenly, pressing his body against hers. She shuddered, immediately looking around for something she could use to defend herself if need be. He put his things down heavily on the countertop in front of him. 

 _...He... must be on his way out_. He wouldn't be back.  
"Margaret." He croaked, touching her wrist. ...That was the first time he had called her by her first name. Slowly, she looked up at him. His eyes were glassy, and their beautiful grey irises seemed faded. Almost white. There was conflict in his expression, like there was something he wanted to do or say but was afraid to try.

After an uncomfortably long silence, he let out a small sigh. His eyes moved over her figure almost longingly before he bent down slightly, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her softly.

She stood stunned as his lips brushed across hers. It lasted for only a second. He pulled away too quickly. She didn't even have a chance to respond. She didn't know if she would've pushed him away or kissed him back. She supposed she'd never know. He winced suddenly, bringing his hands up to his head as though he were defending himself from some unseen attacker. And then he was calm again. He scooped up his things, beginning to shuffle toward the door leading out of the kitchen.

"Vincent!" Magpie called suddenly. He stopped, looking over his shoulder at her. She shuffled her feet, unsure of what else to say.   
"I... Y-you..." She exhaled slowly before continuing, "Are you...? Are you going to be o-okay?"

His only answer was a weary smile. 


	9. ALEXANDER

**May 15, 1980**

"Hey, Bernadette." The girl immediately looked over at Vincent, her eyes scanning him. She didn't like his tone. It was not soft and slightly nervous like when he usually spoke to her. It was stern and steady.

"Hi, Vincey~." She cooed, brushing her bangs back and batting her lashes. He stood stiff, his hands buried in his pockets. He stared down at her with clear eyes. He was ready. He was ready to let go, to move on.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head, licking her lips flirtatiously, “What about?”

"I've been seeing a therapist." Diving right in. He hadn't intended to start so suddenly, but he might as well get it over with. Do it quick, like tearing off a Band-Aid… Bernadette narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms and tapping her foot in an irritated manner.   
"I didn't give you permission to do that."

"No, you didn't. I went because Mom asked me to." The brunette scoffed, tossing her short hair haughtily.   
" _Ruby_? What does _she_ know that _I_ don't?!" The teenaged boy frowned, shaking his head with disbelief. The way that she put herself over his mother was so… _wrong_. Bernadette was eighteen; there was no way that she could understand him or the world better than Ruby.

"She knows that I'm unhappy." He replied.  
"You aren't unhappy, Vincent! You have me." She reached forward to touch him and lightly tickle his stomach… if she could work her magic… if she could just touch him… He stepped out of her reach. He knew what she was trying to do.

"Do I, Bernadette? Do I really?" She didn't like how he was speaking to her. She didn't like the disgust she was hearing. If she couldn't make him melt or guilt him, then she had no power over him. He was defying her. He was fighting back. She was rigid as he continued to speak.

"For as long as we've known each other, you've been manipulating me." She started to interrupt him, but he wouldn't let her. He was done. For the first time he could remember in a long time, he was feeling confident. Talking was helping. The pills were helping. The fear and confusion were far from gone, but he was getting better. He knew that he wasn’t quite as alright as she had always said. How had she kept him in the dark for so long? He _knew_ that there was something wrong. He had always known.

"Don't tell me you weren't, Bernadette. Don’t you lie to me anymore." She was completely taken aback. He could see it in her beautiful eyes. Even now that he could see the ugliness in her, he couldn't help but be hopelessly attracted to her. She had been a constant, a friend, a lover for all these years. She was beautiful. He still wanted her... But he didn't need her. He couldn't need her, if he was going to survive in the real world. She had convinced him that she was helping him but she had only been hurting him. It hadn't occurred to him until his most recent session that she had never loved him. Never _told_ him she loved him, at least… and if she did it wasn’t in the same way that he loved her. He had wanted to tell her countless times, but he knew she would only laugh. And if he knew that she would laugh, what did that really say about her?

"What are you saying, Vincent?" The girl asked, barely controlling the quiver of her voice.   
"You've never been what I needed you to be. Hell, you’ve never even really tried. It’s always been about you.” He swallowed to keep his voice from breaking, “I can't be with someone who has been so close to me for so long and doesn't love me."

"Who has been feeding you this bullshit?" Bernadette shrieked, stamping her foot and clenching her fists, "The quack you've been seeing? Ruby? _Who_?!"   
"No one." Vincent barely maintained his cool demeanor. It was happening. He was doing it. They were over. He was saying goodbye to his best friend… his girlfriend, "I figured it out by myself. I just had to be pushed in the right direction."

"This isn't over, Vincent. You _need_ me! You can't deny that." Her eyes were almost black with rage.

"Bernadette," he whispered, finally letting a touch of anger creep in, "you are the _last_ person I need. I’m done. Goodbye." He turned away from her, moving purposefully in the opposite direction.

"This isn't over!” She shrieked, “You can't live without me and you know it! You'll come back! You _always_ will! Do you hear me, Vincent?! There will _never_ be an end to us! NEVER!"

He almost stopped. Almost. What she said... it made sense. It made sense and it scared him. It scared him more than anything he had ever heard before. But then… he remembered. He remembered that he was free.  He was without her. He had never felt so... _Pure._  


 

**February 09, 1987**

Vincent stared out the window of his car, tapping his fingers against the worn steering wheel. The talk that he had had with Bernadette was cycling through his mind, bits and pieces of conversation repeating again and again. Her sympathy had been reassuring and her protectiveness encouraging. She wasn't going to stand for this. She had made that very clear. He was here to carry out the task she had assigned him. It would redeem him.

 _They deserve this._ They deserved pain.

 _Hurt one, you'll hurt the other. You shouldn't have to be a victim to their mistakes._ It wasn't fair that he was suffering for what they had done.

 _You can play them. Guilt them. Hurt them._ He could control them. At least with her help.

He finally saw Alexander come into view. He was standing at the back entrance, wrapped up in winter clothes to protect him from the bitter February wind. He was holding something in his hands... It looked like a Plushy version of the Marionette. Vincent started his car, slowly pulling up beside the boy. Bernadette was praising him. She was praising him despite not being physically present.

The child looked up at the car now directly in front of him, blinking back the tears in his wide blue eyes. Vincent exited the vehicle, closing the door behind him and leaning casually against it, smiling down at Alexander.

He was a frightening sight. Tall, underweight with greasy hair, hollow and bloodshot eyes, and a nervous tick to top it all off. He was dressed completely in black, from his coat to his gloves to his boots. He looked like a living nightmare.

"M-Mister Perse?" Alex's voice held a definite whimper as he stared up at the man who had held his baby brother as he bled.   
"Afternoon, Alexander. What are you doing out here? Aren't you cold?" He sounded too relaxed for his disheveled appearance, too in-control.    
"...Yes. I... I wanted to be by myself." He hugged the small puppet to him, sniffling.

 _Good. It's vulnerable~. It won't give you any trouble._ Vincent nodded slowly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a plastic bag. Inside was a Twinkie, which had been removed from its packaging.

“Here you go, Kiddo.” He held the bag out to the child, who promptly took it, pulled it open, and removed the sponge cake.

"I understand if you want to be alone." The man said, intently watching as Alex began eating his treat, "I'm sure this has been hard for you. How's your brother doing?"   
"He'th thtill n’t ‘wake." He said sorrowfully.

 _Just like I told you, Vincey... Make it suffer… just like I told you._ Vincent sighed, pushing back his hair with gloved hands. He stared at Alexander hard. He could see Matthews in him. It was clear that they were related, both in how they looked and how they behaved. Anger churned in his stomach as he remembered how much he disliked Jacob Matthews. 

"...You look just like your Granddad." Alex shrugged, speaking around the chunk of pastry in his mouth.   
"Th'th wha mah gramma thayth." He swallowed the mass of cake and filling down.

"Are they sad, too?" Alex nodded in response, still chewing the last bite of the Twinkie.   
"Yes, of course they are... Are they mad at you?" Alex stiffened suddenly.   
"Um..."   
"I mean," Vincent continued, the smile on his face beginning to fade, "you did do a _very_ bad thing." Alex swallowed. It was only a matter of time now…  
"I didn't want David to get h-hurt!" He whined, tearing up again.

_It's lying._

"No, of course you didn't." The ex-security guard crouched down to the boy's level, staring at him hard, "But he got hurt anyway. Did he tell you that he thought that your ‘joke’ wasn’t funny?" He got no answer.

_How silly of it to try and lie to you._

"Did he, Alex?"

"...Y-yes." Vincent shook his head.   
"But you kept going. Is that something a _good_ brother does?"   
"...I... I... N-no."

"No. You're right. You weren't being a good brother to David. And now he's in the hospital." He suddenly snagged the empty bag from Alex's fingers, shoving it back in his pocket, “Families are supposed to protect each other. Not hurt each other.” Suddenly the words he was speaking became painful, clawing their way forcefully out of his throat. Family was _not_ supposed to hurt each other…  “Am I _wrong,_ Alex?” He hissed. The boy shook his head.

“No…” he whispered.

“I’m not wrong. You were bad.” A touch of anxiety was beginning to creep into Vincent now. How long was this going to take? "Do you get punished when you're bad?"

"S-sometimes." Alex hid his face in his toy, tears dampening its plush body.   
"Only sometimes?" The boy nodded.   
"Do you think you should have been punished for what you did to your brother?"

 _The brat doesn't think it deserves this!_ Bernadette was growing impatient. She was disgusted with this kid- she wanted him dead, “Well, Alex? Do you? Do you think you should be punished for almost _killing_ David?”

The child was beginning to feel queasy. The Twinkie settled in his stomach like a rock, sending waves of discomfort through his stomach. The kid squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his plushy Marionette tight.

_Make it admit it! Make it admit that it deserves this!_

 

"Aaaalex," Vincent sang, any trace of a smile completely gone from his face, "you're not answering my question!" The brown haired boy bit his lip, hugging the doll tighter.   
"M-my stomach hu-hurts..." Vincent scoffed.  
"Do you think it hurts as badly as when Fredbear bit David?" The child was openly crying. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, letting out a small groan.   
"Do you?" He still got no answer, “No. No it doesn’t. Nothing will ever hurt you as badly as you hurt your brother.”

Something deep within him begged him to stop. It told him that the anger he was feeling was irrational and misdirected. It wasn’t Alex’s fault that he had been fired. It wasn’t Alex’s fault that he needed to be medicated. It wasn’t Alex’s fault that William had left. None of this was his fault. Hell, even the bite wasn’t _really_ his fault. He had only wanted to scare David. He hadn’t lifted him up that day with the intention of putting him in a coma. Why was he doing this to him? He was only a kid! He was a kid who had made a horrible, tragic mistake... a kid who had been through far too much emotional trauma in the past year or so… a kid who didn’t need to feel any more guilt, and a kid who didn’t need die.

Bernadette swallowed up that something inside of Vincent that was reminding him of all this. She couldn’t have him stop now. The deed was almost done. She was so close to having blood! He would _not_ stop now. She would never let him. She redirected his thoughts to the task at hand almost painfully.

“I th-think I n-need medicine…” Alex groaned, gagging on his own words, “my b-be-belly!”

"I bet that pain doesn't even come close." Vincent hissed, standing back up. Alex looked up at him, blue eyes pleading with grey ones to help him in some way. He was sorry! His body began to shake. He was dizzy, his legs felt weak… And his stomach! Oh, his _stomach_! It hurt so badly!

 _Leave it to suffer alone._ Bernadette purred coldly, _you've done all you can._

"I don't feel g-good!" Alex wailed, staggering backwards, clutching at his stomach with one hand and gripping the miniature Marionette with the other. Vincent watched him fall before turning around and getting back in his car. He wasn't dead. Not yet, at least. But it wouldn’t be much longer.


	10. THE BITTER TRUTH

**February 11, 1987**

He felt so guilty. Vincent paced his bedroom floor, pulling his hands through his hair. Bernadette watched him disinterestedly from his bed, lying on her back with her arms dangling over the edge of the mattress.

"You need to stop worrying, Vincent," she sighed, "it's getting boring." He stopped in his tracks, turning his attention to her. He looked at her quizzically, his fingers still tangled in his hair.

"'Boring'? I'm _boring_ you?"   
"Don't sound so hurt, now!" She rolled onto her stomach, crossing her arms in front of her, "It was bound to happen."   
"What? Bernadette, that's ridiculous! I've been jumping through all kinds of hoops to keep you happy and interested!" She smirked at him, blowing a strand of her soft brown hair out of her eyes.   
"You really haven't changed at all, Vincent."

"I've changed plenty." He growled. His grip on his hair tightened momentarily, before he yanked his hands free, letting them fall to his sides.   
"Have you? Have you really?"  
"Yes."   
"Enlighten me, then!" She sat up, throwing her arms out, "Tell me all about how you're different!" He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Nothing. He couldn't think of anything that would impress her. She was grinning at him, obviously pleased.

"Nothing, Vincent? Not a single change you can think of?" He remained quiet as she tittered, "How disappointing!" She shook her head, still giggling.   
"I told you so. For as long as we've known each other all you've done is try to impress me. Do you even know why?"

_Because I'm in love with you._

Her laughter gained volume.   
"You are too pathetic, Vincent!" He tilted his head, staring at her with obvious confusion.   
"You think this is something more!" Where was all this coming from? Could... Could she tell he felt guilty? Did she... want him to enjoy it more...? No. There was no way. She was just... Just...

"More...?" Bernadette scoffed at him.

"Pleeeease, don't pretend to be confused. This has been nothing but self-indulgence. With me around, you can feel safe. It's validating. You have someone to keep coming back to, someone to take care of, someone who you consistently want, someone who you _think_ wants you." She laughed cruelly to herself. 

"What more could a lonely little boy ask for?" His heart was aching. Every word she spoke cut into him painfully. He had admitted he was wrong to have broken up with her in the first place. He had admitted that she had been right from the beginning. He wasn't sick like they said. Holding on to Bernadette didn't affect his progress. Everything he believed was true!

 _Is it, Vincent?_ Her voice echoed in his ears, making him flinch. The guilt was eating him alive.

"I'm disappointed in you, Vincent." Bernadette sighed, leaning over and pulling open his bedside drawer. She removed a bottle of medication, holding it up to look at. He blinked in confusion. He had thrown out his last pill weeks ago. Months, even. How did she...

_Think about it._

"You're weak." Her bitter words startled him, causing him to tense up, staring at her almost in bewilderment.   
"Excuse me?"   
"You heard me. Weak, Vincent."   
"W... What the hell are you talking about, Bernadette?" She smirked, obviously entertained by the hurt in his eyes.

"You're desperate! You'll do anything to keep from being by yourself. After you left me," Vincent flinched, "you started sleeping around. You moved from girl to girl, making little to no effort to form actual relationships with any of them. You just couldn't bear to have an empty bed for more than a few days at a time." She sighed, moving the container from hand to hand.

"Not to mention that god-awful job you've been working for five years. You liked the nightshift because it wore you out enough that you could sleep the day away without having to face your problems. Not to mention it kept you preoccupied so that that nasty shadow didn't fall over you every evening. And now with the change in your role! You hate the crowds, but are so afraid of being by yourself that you ignore it." Vincent was shaking now. He didn't understand what she was saying to him. Why was she trying to hurt him? After all he did... He was so sorry.

"Why are you so afraid, Vincent?" Bernadette purred, her dark eyes burning into him, "Is it because of the things you hear when you're alone? Or is it because of what happened with your parents? Maybe it's both."

"All I hear is you." He struggled to keep his voice steady. This didn't make any sense! Was... Was she going to leave him? No. No, no, no, no. No, she couldn't! He needed her! HE NEEDED HER! He had just wanted to make her happy. Bernadette's face was twisted in an evil sort of pleasure. 

"Really? Then what are _these_?" She threw the bottle at him hard. It popped open in mid-air, pills flying every which way.   
"Nothing Bernadette, nothing! I swear, oh god, I swear!" She laughed cruelly, falling back down onto the bed.   
"Pathetic!" She shrieked, her body shaking with guffaws. The panic suddenly shifted to something cold. She was laughing at him. Mocking him. He clenched his fists, his pale eyes narrowing as he stared at her on his bed. Laughing.

"You're so scared, Vincent!" She gasped between giggles, "So scared of becoming what you hate! You don't trust yourself!" She sat back up, wiping a tear from her eye, "Don't you understand that you were doomed from the start?"  _...Doomed?_

Doomed? What did she mean?

"I mean, Vincent," she continued, answering a question he hadn't even asked yet, "that you were destined for _me_. Your father made sure of that." Vincent immediately cringed,   
"You might've held on a little longer if you hadn't driven him away."

"If I hadn't-- What?" Bernadette leaned back, twisting her hair flirtatiously between her fingers.   
"Driven him away, Baby. You know- scared him off. Made him leave."   
"The hell are you talking about?!" He spluttered, taking a step backward. A spark of anger had come to life inside of him.

"Oh, did _Mommy_ not tell you?" She spat the word "Mommy" venomously, like it stung her tongue and she wanted to be rid of it, "Did she lie to you? Did she not tell you that he left because he was embarrassed of his loony son?"

"He r-ran off with some cock-sucking t-tart." Vincent barely managed to get the words out. It hurt so badly.   
"That may be true," Bernadette said with a shrug, "but why do you think he cheated in the first place? Surely it had nothing to do with _Mother Dear_!" She sneered, rolling her shoulders and refusing to break eye contact with him.

"No, Vincent, he was sick of _you_."   
"You're lying to me!" 

"Now, why would I do that?" She cooed, batting her lashes. He was going to be sick. Her voice overlapped his thoughts, echoing awkwardly in his head. She was hurting him. Why was she hurting him? Why was she lying?! It was too much. The pressure. The guilt. The pain. Too much.

"Poor Will with his ignorant wife and crazy kid." She sighed, shaking her head.

"My mother isn't ignorant," he growled, twitching, "and I'm not crazy. You said so yourself!" She ignored him. 

"His pathetic little boy. Always playing by himself, talking to nobody, telling stories about people who didn't exist. Who would ever want to be around a kid like that?" She was tearing into old wounds, allowing past confusion and fear to resurface. He was so, so sorry.

"You were so... weird. And you know what's funny? This man who hated you and who you learned to hate... You grew up to be just like him!" She giggled, holding a hand in front of her mouth. He felt like the floor had collapsed beneath him. He was falling... Falling... Falling... Falling straight into Hell.

"No. No. I'm not like him! I'm _me_! Nothing but me!" His voice cracked pitifully. He hated her. He wanted to tear her open and turn her inside out.   
"No, Vincent. You're not just you. You're Will. And you're me."   
"...W... W... What? You crazy b-bitch! What are you _saying_?!"

"You're just like him. Restless. Bitter. A stud, but still weak and disgusting." He was falling faster still, his head spinning.

"You even share his name! Vincent _William_ Perse." He wanted to hurt her. To break her. To smash her to bits. She laughed, delighted by the painful confusion on his face. The bitch was having fun. She was entertained by his suffering. It was all a game to her. A demented, heart-wrenching game.

"Oh, what is a lonely little boy to do without his daddy?" She mewed, "Poor Vincey! Did he want a friend?"   
"I am not a fucking _child_."   
"Ohhh, he _did_! Oh, the crazy kiddo wanted a friend. He was all alone and didn't know what to do about it. Why is Mommy crying? Why did Daddy leave me? Why are the other kids scared of me? Why? Why?"

He was trembling, feeling rage boiling inside of him. She was crazy. He wasn't crazy, she was crazy! She was crazy! HE WASN'T CRAZY! He wanted her to shut up. He wanted to hurt her. She was going to leave him. Why was she going to leave him? He couldn't be alone. No, no, no, no, not again. Not alone. Not alone, oh, god! No! NO! HE WAS SORRY!

"SHUT UP, BERNADETTE! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" He gripped at his hair, hunching over and gritting his teeth. He was shaking so hard. He couldn't stop. His head was pounding. Her voice... It sounded like it was coming from two places at once. God, make it stop! Make it stop! It was too much. It was all eating away at him.

"What is a confused, demented baby to do all on his own? If he couldn't make friends, maybe he'd dream one up." ...What?

_Think about it, Vincey. Just think._

"It d-doesn't ma--ke... sense!" He wailed his voice shrill with emotion, "Nothing you're say--saying! It doesn't! Shut up, dammit, shut UP, you lying WHORE!"   
"You aren't thinking about it, Vincent~!" She trilled, "When did we meet? When did we break up? When did I come back?" When... William left. When... he started treatment. When... he quit his meds.

"Remind me, Vincent William Perse. What are your symptoms again?"

His.... His symptoms? There was the nightmare and the aggression, but...

"'An active imagination' was your therapist's way of putting it nicely." No... No, this was a trick! He didn't daydream. Everything he saw- he _felt_ it! It had to be true! Why was she doing this? Why was she scaring him? He just wanted to hold her...  
...And rip out her throat.

"Who could've known that things would get so out of hand?" She sighed.

Oh, no. No. No. He was fine! There was nothing wrong! Bernadette was here! He could see her, touch her, hear her!

"I don't understand!" He whimpered, tearing his hands from his hair and staring at her, "Why are you doing this? I love you!" Her laughter hit him harder than ever before.   
"I know, I know, and it's the saddest thing I've ever heard! You LOVE me! Do you even know what love is, Vincent?" She stood up on his bed now, staring down at him.

"Love is WEAKNESS! YOU ARE PITIFUL! WRETCHED! ONLY AN IDIOT COULD GO SEVENTEEN YEARS WITHOUT FIGURING IT OUT!" She stopped yelling suddenly, recovering her soft, seductive tones, "You held on to a fantasy for seventeen, almost eighteen, years. An illusion. A daydream that no one else but you could ever understand. And you don't even understand it. Think, Vincent. Tell me why you love me. Tell me why I hate you."

He couldn't just stand there anymore. He ran forward, throwing himself onto the bed and crashing into her, forcing her down. He pinned her arms to the mattress, snarling at her.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! SWALLOW THOSE LIES, YOU DIRTY HARLOT! YOU SOUL-SUCKING JEZEBEL!" She grinned up at him, unfazed.   
"What do I feel like, Vincent?" He hadn't anticipated a question like that. What did she feel like? He tried to squeeze her wrists and to press his hips against hers to get a sense, and... Nothing.   
....He felt nothing.   
            _Oh... Oh fuck._ This couldn't be happening! How could it be? How? How could everything he felt, everything he had done, everything he believed all be pointless?! How could he have never put the pieces together?! Oh, god! This couldn't be happening to him! She couldn't leave him! She had to be... she had to be...

"How can I make you stay?" He begged. She didn't even hesitate.   
"I want suffering."   
"I d-don't want to do it again."   
"You will."  
"Please.... Please don't make me hurt anyone else!" 

"Do you want me here or not?" He collapsed on top of her, sobbing pitifully, feeling nothing underneath him. He heard no heartbeat. He felt no breath. Nothing but the cold sheets beneath him. He could only hear her.

"Why don't you love me?" He croaked between hard breaths, desperately trying to grasp onto her.   
"You don't love yourself." She hissed.

"Why are you leaving me?" She sighed in frustration.   
"Don't you get it, Vincent? I'm not leaving you. There was never anyone to leave you in the first place. Vincent..." Her voice rang painfully in the back of his head. He couldn't see her anymore.   
"None of this is real." He was so sorry. All he wanted... All he... Oh, god. God. What was happening to him? He cried out in agony. 


	11. THE BACK ROOM

**February 27, 1987**

Vincent was slumped in the front seat of his car again, his fists tight around the wheel as he stared blankly out the window. Bernadette's voice was pounding in his head. He couldn't see her anymore, but she was there. Her thoughts almost overpowered his own, working hard to destroy the guilt and nervousness he felt. He couldn't feel this badly if he were going to carry out her filthy desires.

Her excitement was sickening. She evaluated every person they saw walk in and out of the building, looking for vulnerabilities to be exploited.

 _You know_ , she said almost dreamily, _I've always loved the color red._

"I know." He muttered. He had never seen her wear anything but blacks, browns, and reds. He suddenly wondered why. He had no particular fondness for the color, at least as far as he could remember....

 _How about her?_ Bernadette purred suddenly. Vincent's eyes re-focused, looking through the windshield. Magpie was walking through the parking lot, shivering, with her arms pressed tight to her chest. She was looking down at her shoes as she moved.

"No."   
_And why not?_  
"Just not her, okay?" He spat, gripping at his hair.   
_Ohhh..._ the voice in his head sighed, obviously disappointed, _That's the little slut you kissed, isn't it?_

"Don't call her that." He growled in response. His eyes were still locked on the waitress as she came to her car.

_Telling me what to do, Vincey? That's awfully bold. Now come on, don't you think the tramp would be even nicer to look at with her belly slit open? All that lovely blood, Vincey... Think about it._

"Shut the FUCK up, Bernadette, I told you I'm not touching her!" He smacked his steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn. A few people turned around to locate the source of the sudden loud noise, and Vincent immediately fell to the side, trying to avoid being seen.

 _Fine_. Bernadette sniffed, _but you're going to have to pick someone sooner or later.  
_ "Why?" He whispered through gritted teeth, clasping his hands against his forehead, "Why do I have to do this?" 

 _Because you're a miserable little shit who can't handle being left by himself_. He felt his heart aching again. Why couldn't there be another way? Why couldn't she just stay with him in the real world? Why couldn't he just hold on to that illusion of happiness, that imaginary lover? Why couldn't he have just stayed ignorant? Why did the bloodlust of a fictional woman have to interfere with what little was left of his morals?

He wished suddenly that Bernadette would leave him alone. He wished that he had been more persistent in his attempts to make friends at school when he was small. He wished that he didn't rely so heavily on her.

 _Don't lie to yourself, Vincent._ He cringed, _You'll never stop wanting me. Don't try to trick yourself into believing otherwise. Pathetic._ He whined softly, dragging his hands down his face.  
_You can sit back up now, you coward, they've probably moved on._ Coward.

He was a coward, wasn't he? A grown man so hopelessly in love with a dream that he would seriously consider taking the life of a living, breathing person to hold on to the fantasy just a little longer.

He didn't want to hurt anyone. He was wracked with guilt for what he had done to Alexander. The boy had been found dead outside the pizzeria almost two hours after he had left him there. Matthews left his job the next day. The restaurant had taken both of his grandchildren from him and he couldn't bear to spend any more time there. Technically, David was still alive. But that was not living. He wasn't ever going to be able to be a kid again. There was a high chance he too would be dead in a few months. Vincent was shaking again. 

He had developed a twitch a long time ago but now it was an almost constant shaking, like a small dog in an animal shelter. The more Bernadette consumed him, the less control he had over his body. And the nightmare was here to stay. God, he was so tired. But he couldn't sleep.

He only dreamt of blood spilling out of his mouth and fire in his lungs as that deformed reflection grinned at him from behind the mirror. Just thinking of it now made him gasp for air, gripping at his chest, looking around wildly for the source of his pain. It had to be the car.   
It was closing in around him. He couldn't breathe! The walls were crumpling in on themselves, slowly getting closer... Closer... He was going to be crushed, the breath squeezed from his lungs, forever trapped in a cage of metal. The door! Oh, thank god, the door was still mostly in-tact! He flung himself forward, desperately groping for the handle as he heard his car creak and felt it collapsing on him. As he finally got his fingers around the handle, a long, shrill whine startled him out of the delusion.

He was panting, his eyes glassy as he stared down the asphalt, which he could now see as he leaned out of his open car door.

 _Just a dream, Vincent._ She purred, whispering in that same soft tone she so often used to lure him to her, to drag him into his own twisted mind and comfort him with lies. He mewled pitifully, sitting up and pulling the door shut again. He rested his forehead on the top of the wheel. 

"What's happening to me?" He croaked, fighting the urge to break down and sob.  
_Nothing new_. She said simply, seemingly annoyed, _These... ideas... have always been here, in your head. You're just giving them a chance to express themselves!_

"...And what about you?"  
_Oh, I've always been expressing myself. Do you think you would've done half the things you have without me?_  
"Oh." 

 _There's nothing quite like knowing you hold the keys to someone else's life, is there, Vincey~?_ She giggled, her silvery giggle pounding uncomfortably in his ears. Nothing indeed. She loved playing this little game. She knew she had him. She knew she could get him to do anything she liked. He was wrapped around her finger, bowing to her every whim. And now she was taking it to the next level. It wasn't enough for him to alienate his friends, his mother. It wasn't enough for him to hide from the doctors. It wasn't enough for him to pick fights. A small part of him knew nothing he did would ever be good enough for her. She'd always want more and she'd always get more as long as she threatened to leave him alone.

He couldn't be alone. He just couldn't. He couldn't face the never-ending nights of silence as he lay alone in his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't take the intrusive whispering, desperately working to drag down his confidence. He couldn't handle the cold. He couldn't be in his head by himself. And so he needed Bernadette.

 _How about children?_ She hissed suddenly, her pretty voice rough with a twisted excitement, _You've done it before, Vincey. You can do it again._

"I don't know..." 

 _You said you'd do anything for me._ She whined. He felt a dull throb in his skull.   
_Were you lying to me, Baby?_ There was a tremble in her voice. A trick, he knew it, but he couldn't stand it. Despite all she had said... All she had made him do... He couldn't disappoint her. It wasn't right. _I thought you wanted to make me happy._

"I do!" His voice creaked desperately, shaking as he fought tears, "I do, Bernadette, I do, I promise!"

 _I don't believe you._ His heart was aching and his head was pounding. He felt so small, so helpless. 

"I'll do whatever you want!" He groaned, feeling the tears finally begin to run down his cheeks, "Please believe me, Bernadette! I'll make you happy!"   
_Do you want me to leave?_  
"Oh, god, no! No, no, no! S-stay here. I'll make you h-happy, Bernadette! I'll do it! Just don't leave me alone! God, don't make me live by myself!"    
_You'll do what I say?_  
"Yes..."   
_Good boy._  

 

**March 02, 1987**

It was cold. Vincent floated down the halls of the pizzeria, keeping an eye out for rooms and closets he could duck into if need be.

He hardly felt like he had any control of his body. He was numb all over, his mind buzzing with Bernadette's whispers and new sounds that he had never quite registered before. His breathing was slow and ragged and his hand was trembling nonstop. He was so cold.

His clothes were made more to appeal to the patrons of the pizzeria than to provide comfort. A few outfits had been designed to mimic the animatronics a few years back, and sat mostly unused in storage. The light purple uniforms had been far more popular and comfortable and the staff had slowly worked on putting the Fazbear gang themed uniforms into boxes stored in the back room. Bernadette had suggested that he take one of them. He could blend in better than if he had left on his black winter clothes (the company had asked him to turn his security uniform in before he left). He had changed in one of the bathrooms, apart from his gloves and boots.

What Vincent was wearing now was Spring/Golden Bonnie themed. It was the only one that fit him. A black button up under a sort of tan vest, which mostly covered the matching suspenders. The pants were the same color as the vest, and a little too tight. The bowtie was the only part of the outfit that didn't match. It was deep purple that stood out against the black and dusty gold in the rest of the outfit. Had they shut off the heat? He could practically see his breath.

She was instructing him now. Telling him where to go. Watching for anyone that would spoil her little game.

He stopped at the front of the party room, bloodshot grey eyes scanning the crowd, waiting for Bernadette to tell him who to pick. Waiting. Waiting....   
He didn't have to wait long. Her prey came to him. A girl. A little on the chubby side, dressed in pink, with blonde hair which she wore in pigtails. She stared up at him with round blue eyes, seemingly fascinated. He looked down at her, putting on his friendliest smile.

"Hiya, Kiddo." He crouched down to her level.   
"Hi." She said shyly, holding her hands behind her back, "I like your bow. 'S pretty."   
"Why, thank you." She nodded, smiling. She was like a little doll... Adorable. Her parents must be absolutely tickled to have such a sweet kid.

 _Vulnerable._ Bernadette hissed. He was freezing. He bet his lips were blue.

"So what brings you to Freddy's today?"

"'S my brother's birfday!" She told him proudly, beaming up at Vincent.   
"Yeah? Well, happy birthday to him! How old is he?"   
"Six! 'N I'm five."   
"No way, really?" She giggled.   
"Yes!"   
"You're all grown up then, aren't you?" He struggled to maintain the warm attitude. Bernadette was growing impatient. She was nagging him, biting his ears, telling him to get it done. She wanted blood and she wanted it now! The other voices, the quieter ones, the ones he had always dismissed as the buzzing of flies or distant conversation, were growing louder. He couldn't understand them. But they were there. The girl nodded enthusiastically.  
"How old'r you?" She asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.   
"Me? Well, I'm twenty four. But I'll be twenty five tomorrow."   
"Are you gonna have a party here?"   
Vincent shook his head.  
"Nah. My favorite animatronics don't play in the band anymore, so it wouldn't be as fun."

"Who're your favorites?"   
"I liked Fredbear and Spring Bonnie." She gasped excitedly, bouncing up and down.  
"Me too! You look like Goldie." She poked his stomach, gesturing to his vest. Her hands were tiny.

 _It won't make trouble for you._ Bernadette's voice was disturbingly hungry.

"How come they went away?" Vincent sighed, shaking his head sadly.   
"The Toys didn't think the old gang worked well with the new restaurant." The girl seemed a little confused. Vincent continued to speak. Bernadette's voice rattled his brain.

"You want to know something?" She nodded. He leaned forward just a touch, whispering, "They're still here. They just don't play anymore. Would you like to see them? Your old pals?" Her blue eyes were round and bright with delight.   
"Really?!"   
"Mhm."

_More._

"After your cake, I want you to gather up your brother and your friends and go to the back of the restaurant, okay? Bonnie and Goldie will be waiting for you in one of the rooms."   
"Thank you!" He watched her scurry off, her little blonde pigtails bouncing. His skin felt like ice. Slowly, Vincent got up, his heart beating wildly. Bernadette was purring with delight. He felt like he might be sick.

"...I don't-"  _You promised._ He had promised. Promised. ...Shit... Shit. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't! He had done it once already and he would never get over it. In the moment, he didn't give a damn. But as soon as the deed was done... He didn't want to do it. God, he didn't want to do it. He'd rather have taken out Matthews during that fight or some prick at a bar than go after these kids. But Bernadette had explained that it _had_ to be here. He knew the place inside and out. Every scandal was covered up. The security system was crap. It was perfect. And children wouldn't fight back, at least not well. She wanted the power. She lusted for it. It was what kept her alive.

With a buzzing head, a heavy heart, and the feeling that his whole body was being consumed by frost, Vincent trudged off toward the back room. He didn't have to wait long. The sound of small voices echoing down the too-dark, too-cold hall came to him. Vincent ran his hands through his tangled hair, leaning nonchalantly against a wall. Waiting. The voices in his head grew louder as those of the children came closer. Bernadette was making it impossible to concentrate.

 _Can you smell it? The blood, oh, that fresh young blood... Like a dream! I wonder what it tastes like. I bet it's sweet... Sweet, red, sugar... mm... Oh.... Ohhh...!_  
"That's disgusting, Bernadette." He spat.

_I want blood. I want that sticky cherry candy. I want it, Vincent. I want it. I want it! I WANT IT!_

"Ov'r here!" Vincent snapped to attention, his head turning toward the small voice of the kid from earlier.  
_I want it..._ Bernadette was hissing. He hardly recognized her voice anymore. It was thick with insatiable greed. It was ugly. Impure. Devoid of anything good, anything tender. It was wrong. He felt dirty. 

But he still wanted her. Why did he still want her? He was nothing to her! Nothing but a way to get what she wanted. And he still wanted her. He wanted her so badly it made him sick.

"Hi, Mister Goldie!" She called out to him happily, skipping forward. She had three boys following after her. One had shaggy red hair and was dressed in an oversized sweater with a bear-shaped pin on it that read "Birthday Boy!". The other two both had dark hair and eyes, but one was shorter than the other and more smartly dressed. He wore a button up and a tiny bowtie, which was a tad crooked. Vincent figured that the taller of those two must be the oldest due to the way he held himself. He was probably around eight years old. Four children plus Alex.

 _Perfect!_ Bernadette shrieked. Vincent cringed as he felt her icy fingers tugging on him, gripping his wrists, his hair, his sides. She was trying to move him.  _I want it, Vincent! Give it to me!_ He was fighting for control of his own body.

"Hey, kids." Vince tried his best to sound calm and friendly, but there was an obvious strain in his voice.  
"I told Chase 'bout you 'n how you said you know where we could see Goldie 'n Spring Bonnie, 'n he brought Ben 'n James 'cause they don't believe us 'n I thought that they could come to see we were right!" The girl hopped up and down excitedly, grabbing the hand of the redhead who must've been her brother. He smiled at her before turning his attention to the other kids.  ...Ben and James.

"Are ya really gonna let us see em?" The smaller one asked, surprisingly skeptical for such a young kid, "'Cause my mom told me that 'fter ya stop workin' they send ya away 'n ya n'ver come back 'cause they don't need ya." Vincent narrowed his eyes.

"You're a smart one, aren't you?" He crouched down so that he wasn't much higher up than the children, "Your mom's right. Usually when you retire that means you aren't hangin' around your old workplace anymore." He drummed his fingertips against his thigh, "However, I consider those two my friends and requested that they were well-taken care of here at Freddy's. Just because they aren't part of the act anymore doesn't mean they should be thrown out into the cold, does it?" They shook their heads and Vince put his smile back on.

"Right." He straightened back up, nodding toward the back room, "Now let's go say hi." He turned on his heel, waving the children on after him as he trudged down the hall. Bernadette's voice rang painfully inside his skull, making him shiver. He was so cold.

He stiffened, looking down. The little girl had grabbed his hand and was humming happily as she skipped beside him. Her tiny fingers were so warm... The sudden heat against the ice coating his skin was almost painful. He wanted to pull away, but couldn't muster the strength. Bernadette was screaming.

 _DON'T YOU BOND WITH IT, YOU WEAK FUCK!_ His vision was starting to get blurry. He had to get to the door... Too many voices spinning in his head, making it hurt... His hand was burning and his lungs were filled with frost. So close... Get it done now and it'd all be over. They'd be happy again!

 _IT'S MINE! ITS BLOOD IS MINE!_...But were they ever happy? These kids... ...They were so innocent... Their whole lives were ahead of them. They still had a chance. They could be happy... He couldn't. Not with Bernadette. He had no future with a woman who didn't exist. He came to the door. He reached for the handle, but hesitated, glancing back at the three kids behind him and the one holding onto his hand. He wanted to yank himself free, turn around right now and run like hell out of the building. God, they were tiny...

 _DON'T GET FUCKING ATTACHED!_ Had he ever been that small? Probably.... It would've been a long time ago.

 _FUCKING COWARD!_ He grinned. It was more difficult than he could've anticipated.   
"Ready?" They nodded excitedly.   
He wasn't ready. He pushed open the door, herding them inside. And then he closed the door again. It was dark. 

"Where are they?" Chase squeaked, looking up at Vince with bright green eyes. A pain worse than anything he had felt before suddenly cracked between his eyes. He slammed his free hand against his face.   
"Fuck!" One of the kids gasped.  
"You said a bad word!" 

He grunted in response. His chest was heaving, his eyes squeezed shut against the stabbing feeling in his head. He took a staggering step forward before dropping to his knees. He brought both hands to his head, groaning pitifully.

"Are you okay, Mister?" The girl squeaked, concern rattling her voice.   
"I think he's sick, Fay." Chase said to his sister.

 _GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE IT TO ME NOW! THE BLOOD!_ He was disappearing. He was fading away... The cold darkness eating away at him. The entire world was black. There was nothing. Nothing but Bernadette.

 _CHERRY CANDY! SWEET FUCKING CHERRY CANDY!_ He felt nothing. Nothing existed anymore. He didn't even exist. There was nothing but a cold, empty darkness. Nothing.

It suddenly occurred to him that the voices were gone. All but one. There was one thick, shaking, voice echoing throughout the nothing. It begged for Bernadette.

"Where'd you go?" It whined, "Bernadette?" The voice was still alone.  
"Bernadette! C'mon, this-- this isn't funny! Come out, now! Please?" It got no answer. He noticed how familiar the cries sounded.  
"Please! Please don't leave me alone!" There was warmth now, soaking through the nothing. He felt it on his hands and on his face. Who was that talking?  
"Bernadette!" The blackness was growing fuzzy. He knew them...  
"Bernadette!" He felt something sticky pressed against his forearms. Sticky and somewhat furry. Like felt caked in...   
"BERNADETTE!" It was his voice.

Vincent was suddenly thrown back into reality. He was slumped against the partially dismantled original Foxy. The back panel was slightly ajar beneath his arms, which were...   
Oh, god. His arms were stained up to the elbows in blood. There was so much of it smeared onto his sleeves that it looked black, and the fabric stuck to his arms underneath. He could taste it on his lips... Disgusting. He hated it. He had never realized just how much he hated the too-salty flavor of the stuff. His eyes went back to the panel, where he... Oh... Oh no. Oh no. Shit...

What had he done?

There was a glimpse of a small, mangled hand poking out of the opening. He shoved the fingers back inside, gagging at the cold, slimy texture.

Vincent whirled around, his bloodshot eyes scanning the room. The other three originals... Chica, Bonnie, Freddy... They all had gore smeared around the back panels.

What had he done?

"Bernadette...?" He croaked again, fighting the urge to vomit. There was nothing. He felt empty.   
"Please..." He was so lost, so confused... Had they fought back? What had he used? He saw no weapon... Was it inside with them? How quickly had this all happened? It felt like it had only been a few seconds... Had it- of course it had. How could it not have hurt with that much blood? The gloves were still on... Thank god... If anyone ever...

"B-Bernadette?" Where was she? She said she would stay. She said that if he did this for her, she would stay! She said...

...He had to clean up...

He took off the gloves, shoving them in his back pocket. There was blood on his hands as well. Lucky for him, however, there was a box of plastic gloves on a shelf nearby. He pulled out four, double layering them before picking up a roll of paper towels and practically using the whole thing to wipe off as much of the blood from the animatronics as possible. 

When he was done with that, he turned his attention to the stains on the floor. Using a cheap spray cleaner and the last of the towels, he pulled a majority of the red stains from the floor as well as from the bottoms of his shoes. Next he opened up the box of old uniforms that he had borrowed his current get-up from, pulling out two plastic bags which contained his regular clothes. Gripping the bags tight, he moved out of the back room, darting into an employee's only bathroom nearby and locking it with an extra set of keys that management had somehow failed to confiscate.

He checked every stall, and finding them empty, breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, he turned to a mirror. He felt faint. Blood was in his hair, his eyebrows... If stained his cheeks and lips, and had left now-dry trails crusted down his jaw and neck. He pulled off the plastic gloves, dropping them in a toilet and flushing before turning on the sink. He stared at the somewhat rusty water as it spurted irregularly from the faucet before settling into a clear and consistent stream. Pumping his hands full of soap, he began to scrub his skin, trying to drive out the filth. 

                

♠♠♠

 

He stood shaking in the doorway of his bedroom, staring at the unmade bed. He had half expected her to be there, waiting for him with words of praise. But she was nowhere. She had satisfied her cravings, and she would be gone until she grew hungry (or bored) again. He felt so used. This had all been for nothing. She lied to him.

Or, rather, he had lied to himself. How had he gone so long without figuring it out? Why hadn't anyone told him in plain English that _this_ was what they meant by an "active imagination"? Had he really been _that_ lonely? Was he really _this_ fucked up?

He swallowed back the lump in his throat. He lied to himself. He killed those kids himself. Oh... Oh, god... God, what had he done? _Why_ had he done it? He couldn't think of any time he had wanted to kill. Bernadette had always been the one who encouraged violence, and until recently he had always seen her as a separate person.   
So these desires must've been buried deep somewhere inside him. He had been fighting them for so long... Why had they come to be in the first place? Why?

His breath was harsh, rattling his under-fed frame. He hadn't noticed until today how terrible he looked. The world of Bernadette that he had made for himself ate up reality. He felt pangs of venomous guilt. He understood now that Backer and Magpie had been trying to help. He hadn't been able to see what they saw until now. He hadn't seen the clouds in his eyes, the greasy knots in his hair, the consistent tremble of his hand, the looseness of his clothes or the unhealthy grey that tinged his skin. All apart from around his eyes. They were a dark purple, like bruises. He looked shit. Felt shit, too.

He gasped, pressing his face against the doorway and squeezing his eyes shut. Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to be so confused? Why couldn't he be alright when he was alone? Why did he have to bend to the will of nothings? The nothings in his head... In his soul, if he even had one anymore.... Haunting him. Whispering to him... Asking him to do their dirty work. And he would do it, too. Just so he could keep lies alive.

He thought he had to cough, but what escaped his throat instead was a pitiful weep. He fell into his room, allowing himself to collapse onto the carpet. It smelled old and dusty. He could taste it as he sobbed face-down on the floor. It was bitter and dry, but it was real. And he hated it for that. Everything in his room was real. Everything but her. And she wasn't even in here anymore.

He hated it all. He hated it because it was real, and the thing he had tricked himself into wanting so desperately... It wasn't. Everything he knew was a lie.   
He hated his carpet. He hated his nightstand with the drawer of miscellaneous shit. He hated the closet with the cracked mirror door. He hated his dresser and his bookshelf and the fan that he had because the AC never worked when he needed it to. He hated his lamp and the faded walls and the window over his bed- his bed. He hated his bed most of all.

He hated the worn mattress and the wooden frame and his black sheets and dark lavender-grey comforter. He hated that it was the place where he slept. He hated that it was the place he wanted Bernadette to be. He hated the memories that had been ground into it. He hated that it was where he could least-stand being alone.

With difficulty, he sat up, his heart beating wildly and his eyes dark with rage. He bit his lip, pressing harder and harder until he tasted that metallic flavor that now made him queasy. He looked around his room, despising the reality of it. It made him sick.

Before he knew what he was doing, he got to his feet and with tears running down his face, he threw himself forward. He started with the bookshelf, grabbing it and heaving it away from the wall it had been propped against. He flung it down onto the ground, hardly waiting to hear the crash before moving on.

He leaped over it, grabbing the drawers of his dresser and yanking them open, grabbing handfuls of clothes and flinging them into a pile in the far corner of his room before pushing the piece of furniture over as well, letting it fall against the shelf.

He stumbled over to his closet, slamming the door open, not caring if he broke it. He tore his shirts and jackets off their hangers and threw them into a corner to join the pile of his pants, socks, ties, belts, and underwear. He slammed the door closed again, feeling a sense of dark satisfaction as he saw that the glass had broken further.

He knocked over the fan, smashed the lamp, and emptied the drawer of his bedside table. All that was left was the bed. He stripped it of its sheets with an animal ferocity, flinging them this way and that and he somehow managed to rip open a pillow. With a grunt, he flipped the mattress out of the bedframe, watching as it plopped heavily to the ground.

He stood in the middle of his trashed room, taking in the mess with bloodshot, puffy eyes. It was still too real. If anything, it was more real than it had been before.

Oh, what had he done? What had he _done_? Nothing made sense anymore. All he had accomplished was making himself more miserable. Everything he did... He couldn't make himself feel better. The only things that had ever helped had been his pills and talking it out. And for some reason he had resented it. If he had known sooner, maybe... Maybe... It was too late for "maybe"s.

"Why does it have to hurt so bad?" He whined, gripping his hair in his fists.   
"Why do I have to be this way?" He started to cry again, dropping to his knees, surrounded by chaos.  
"W-what's wrong w-with m-me?!" He sobbed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

As he sat bawling on the floor, he thought he felt a cold and familiar laugh echo painfully in the back of his head. 


	12. HELL

**September 03, 1993**

_Mister Perse?_ Vincent's body stiffened. Still trying to catch his breath, he looked up from the heap of mechanical parts that had once been the animatronics.

_Mister Perse, what are you doing?_

"Not now, David." Vincent whispered, wringing his hands. He shivered, feeling the cold that the young boy carried with him. He was staring down at the mess Vince had created with sad eyes. The man tried to avoid looking at him. David came to him as he last saw him, his hair full of blood and his face droopy. It wasn't right.

 _What did you do to them?_ His voice was so innocent, so confused. He had destroyed them all. The whole Fazbear gang. Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, Foxy... Torn them to shreds. He couldn't stand looking at them anymore- they only reminded him of what he had done. That horrible, disgusting, fucked-up thing he had done... 

He wasn't really sure why he had come back to work here. Chris Backer was the only person who had been employed at the same time that he originally had who was still here.   
Chris had tried to be nice to him, reestablish their friendship... But Vincent wouldn't have any of it. He didn't know why.

He had learned that Magpie had left two years after him. She had met a man and moved with him to Seattle, where she had begun studying to become an elementary school teacher. He knew she wouldn't still be at Freddy's. In fact, he was glad she wasn't. She deserved someplace better.  ...But he had still been disappointed. And here he was. 

Working a job that he still hated in an environment that he still hated for reasons he didn't understand. They were hiring, he applied after quitting another job, and they took him (presumably without a background check). Things had been mostly fine at first. He had been back on his meds, taking care of himself... Until four months ago.

He had made it almost three years without missing a day. Two pills a morning, every morning. And then something had snapped. He was sick of them. Despite the fact that he now knew what to expect, he had stopped again. It was worse than ever before.

 _What did you do to my friends?_ David reached out, gently stroking Foxy's crushed muzzle with his pale hands. He looked back up at Vincent, tears glistening in his clouded eyes.

"I-I-I-" he covered his face with his hands, which were streaked with oil and grease, but he could still see the boy.

 _They're hurting..._ David whispered.   
"I'm sorry!" Vincent choked suddenly, dragging his hands down his cheeks, "I didn't want to hurt them!"  _Then why did you?_  
"I... I don't..."

_Alex said you were mad at him. He said you made him sick._

Any trace of warmth was sucked out of Vincent at that moment, replaced with tingling, icy numbness.

"A-Alex?" His voice quivered as he forced himself to look back at David. Poor David who had been dead five years and now lived as one of the voices in Vincent's head.   
_He didn't mean to hurt me... He's sorry. He told me he was sorry._ David wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve, smearing red in small trails across his face.

_Why did you make him sick? He said he was sorry!_

"David, please," Vincent took a step away from the child as if he was really there, "I didn't know what I was doing! I swear! I never meant to hurt anybody."

_I don't feel so good..._

Vincent whirled around to face another young boy. Taller than David, but with the same hair and eyes. He was dressed in a winter coat and his face was drained of all color. He looked like he was going to throw up. Alex looked up at Vincent, his dull eyes full of the kind of fear and disgust you would never expect to see in a kid.

 _What did you do to me?_ Alex staggered closer, gripping his stomach in pain. Vincent held up his hands, unable to pull his gaze away from the dead boy.

"It w-wasn't m-my idea!" He stuttered unable to back away for fear of running into David, "Bernadette!" Her name left his lips in the form of a shrill whisper, "Bernadette's idea!"

 _You didn't have to hurt me..._ Alex groaned. Tears were streaming down his face, just like David. He stumbled, falling to his knees and letting out a long whine. David ran to his older brother, dropping beside him and pressing his ruined face into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him.

 _I'm sorry..._ Alex mumbled, loosely gripping at his sibling's leg. He looked back up at Vincent and for a brief moment his face became that of the Marionette. White, round, red cheeks and black eyes with purple streaks (that looked remarkably like tears) coming from them.   
...The Plushy he had been holding... And then it was normal again. Apart from the eyes. The eyes were still black and empty. _Why did you do this to us, Mister Perse? Why did you hurt us?_

...Us? Oh. Oh, no. Vincent felt something- or, rather, nothing- grab his hand. He was afraid to look.

 _Mister Goldie? Are we still gonna see my friends?_ That soft little voice... Slowly, he turned his eyes down and what he saw made him yell out in fear. He yanked his hand away from her, leaping backward.

The little girl, Fay... She stared up at him through the cut-out eyeholes of one of the cheap plastic Chica masks. Her small body was run through with wires, springs, and rods. They held her joints at awkward angles and propped her mouth open in a permanent scream. He could hardly tell what color her hair and clothes were supposed to be through all the--

 _It h-hurts..._ she mewled suddenly. Her movements were jerky as she worked to bring her hands to her mouth, lightly running her fingers along the metal holding it open.

"I'm s-sorry..." Vincent held his hands over his mouth. His heart was beating wildly and his whole body shook with fear, "I'm s-so s-so-sorry!" She tilted her head slightly, awkwardly, the mask slipping a little ways down her face.

_Why did you let my friends hurt me? I wasn't scared 'til you let them..._

Alex piped up again. _He's a bad man, Fay._ His voice was a wheeze. David nodded, his face still pressed against his brother.  _He hurt us._

"I DIDN'T WANT TO! IT WAS BERNADETTE! BERNADETTE MADE ME!" He heard a high-pitched wail, and when he looked back at Fay, there was another child leaning against her, using her weight to keep him standing. His leg was twisted painfully, held in an uncomfortable position by the same kinds of wires and rods holding her mouth open. It was James, the boy with the little bowtie. He too wore a mask, but his resembled the purple rabbit, Bonnie. He was the one screaming. Fay hushed him gently, putting an arm around his shoulders and resting her cheek against his.

 _His leg hurts... and his head..._ she told Vincent, her blank eyes locking on him through the mask, _Did you do that to him?_

"I didn't- didn't mean to!" James had quieted some, now groaning instead of screaming. Vincent eyed the door... So close... He could get out! He could escape! They wouldn't follow him! ...Would they? He inched toward the exit, his hand outstretched, reaching for the handle.   
David looked up.  
_Where are you going?_

 _Aren't you going to stay with us?_ Alex sneered, tightening his grip on his brother.

 _Goldie, don't leave!_ Fay begged, pulling herself and James toward him. Another wave of cold hit him. In front of the door was a fifth child.

His sweater was torn open across his chest, exposing an opening in his torso where his insides were replaced with metal parts. His red hair hung over the front of his Foxy mask, and his head was angled to the left, leaving his throat exposed. The fingers on one of his hands were locked in an unbreakable fist. Chase. Fay's brother. The birthday boy.

 _Are... y-you sick... S-Sir?_ He panted, his words raspy and slow. Sick?   
...Oh, yes, he was sick. Sicker than anyone had ever imagined. But he had been better! Better for so long... And he had thrown it all away. For what? Nothing of value. Nothing but mind-numbing, soul-crushing pain. Why? Why did he insist on doing this to himself? The guilt was bad enough on the pills, but off...

 _You d-don't... l-l-l-look so good..._ he extended his torn arms toward Vincent, his deformed fingers fighting to uncurl and grab him.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Chase froze.

 _Do you... want me... t-to get he-help...?_ Vincent held up a hand in defense.   
"D-don't come near me! Don't touch me! You got that?! I don't n-need-" But he did. He needed all the help he could get. But... It was too late at this point. His mother would've said "no" to that. It was never too late in her eyes. His poor, sweet, strong mother... How had he turned out like this with her always by his side, offering her help? Holy fuck, had he been stupid. So stupid.   
_HE WON'T TAKE YOUR HELP, CHASE! DON'T BOTHER TRYING!_ Alex cried, throwing back his head in a flood of emotion.

 _He won't take anyone's help..._ David murmured. Fay nodded sadly, showing her agreement.

_He's scared._

"I'm n-not scared!" Vincent whimpered. Lies. He was terrified.

 _Scared of us?_ James croaked.

"I'M NOT SCARED!"

 _He doesn't... L-like looking... At us._ Chase added. David looked up. His face...  
_It makes him sad._

 _We're sad, too._ A sixth voice. He knew it was Ben. Taller than the rest- gangly. Even in death with that stupid Freddy mask on he had an air of superiority around him. Vincent couldn't make himself look at him for very long. With the way he was cut up, it looked as though he had been the only one who had really tried to fight back. Oh, God, what had he _done_?

 _You made us sad._ Ben growled, his black eyes narrowing behind the mask, _You made us hurt._

 _It hurts so bad!_ Fay whined.

"What the fuck do you WANT from me?!"   
_You said a bad word!_

"I- I know. I'm sorry." His head was pounding. Their voices were coming from inside. He knew that. He could see them, hear them. Their mouths didn't move when they spoke. It was all in his head. None of it was real. None of it was real! So why was he so afraid? They couldn't hurt him! They didn't exist! All this was his sick. His illness. His disease. Whatever it was that prevented him from living. Bernadette. 

Bernadette. This plague, this fear, this hate, this disgusting creature that possessed him to do terrible things was named Bernadette.

How could've he been so stupid to believe that he could ever escape her? Every time he stopped the meds that was her. Every time he picked a fight with a stranger that was her. Every time he hated himself that was her. She was everything in him that was wrong. That was sick. She had been playing with him nonstop for the past four months. Coming and going, whispering... And now he heard her again.

 _Vincey~..._ her too-sweet voice rang in his ears as she gripped his shoulders with icy claws, _It's me..._ Her hands were all over him, grabbing at him painfully, pulling him backwards, dragging him into the far corner of the dark room. All six children stared at him as he desperately tried to resist her.   
"GET OFF ME!"

 _HE'S CRAZY!_ Alex crowed, standing back up with tremendous difficulty.

 _He's talking to something that isn't there!_ David added.

 _It's me, Vincey~... I'm here... I'm back... I always come back..._ she giggled, running her hands up his chest and gripping at his neck, yanking his head back. He coughed, twisting his body in an attempt to get her off of him.   
"S-STOP TOUCHING ME! GET OFF OF ME!"

 _He's crazy..._ Fay murmured.

 _There's nothing there..._ Chase growled.

 _He's talking to himself..._ Ben spat.

"Y... You don't see her?" Surely they had to know she was there! They were just like her! Weren't they...?

 _Who are you talking to, Vincey? It's just you and me..._  
"W...what? What's going on...?"  
_No one else is here..._

"B-but the kids!" He stopped struggling for just a second too long. She pulled on him hard, causing him to stumble backwards. His eyes spun in his skull, searching for any means of escape. _You can't get away, Vincent._ She breathed, caressing his face without tenderness, _you can't. You're mine._ And then he saw it.

 _Why are you running from us?_ Alex asked, his voice thick with spite, _Are you scared, Mister Perse?_

 _Save us, Goldie!_ Fay begged suddenly, moving forward, her chubby arms outstretched, _Please! Make it stop hurting!_

"I'm s-sorry..." he whined, slowly working his way toward the suit, "I d-didn't want to hurt you!"

 _LIIIIIIIIIAR!_ Bernadette sang, pulling her nails across his face, _YOU LIE, VINCEY! YOU WANTED TO HURT FOR ME! YOU WERE MINE THEN AND YOU'RE MINE NOW!_

"Just let GO of me!" Vincent cried, shaking himself violently in an attempt to throw her off of him.

 _Why w-w-won't you s...save us?_ Chase croaked.

_You can't. It's too late._

"SHUT UP, BERNADETTE!" he grabbed for the suit, feeling the moldy fur brush against his fingers.

 _Save us! Make it stop! Let us go home!_ James sobbed the words desperately, attempting to come forward but instead falling face down on the ground. And then something happened. Vincent felt Bernadette's nonexistent hand reach inside him, grab his heart, and rip it free. She screamed with laughter.

_MIIIIIINE! MINE MINE MINE! YOU CAN'T GET AWAY, VINCENT! I OWN YOU! YOU'RE MINE!_

His eyes locked on James lying on the ground, hearing the sound of his heart thumping uselessly in Bernadette's hand... Through his tears, he began to laugh. Hysterical, shrieking laughter. He couldn't stop. The children were closing in on him, backing him into the corner as Bernadette pulled him. His hands were gripping the old yellow rabbit suit. He could hide from them!

_You can't._

He could hide! Just climb inside the suit! He was good with the suits! They couldn't touch him if he was inside.

_You hurt us._

He pulled the mask on, snapping it in the back and under his chin like a helmet.

 _You can't get away from me._ He was still laughing.

 _You won't save us._ He grabbed the crank on the back of the partially-disassembled rabbit, twisting it quickly with one hand as he pulled on the gloves with the other.

 _I always come back!_ The voices were getting louder, overlapping.

 _You can't hide from us._ He unzipped the opening in the old animatronic, beginning to pull it on like a sort of industrial wetsuit.

 _It's me, Vincent. I'm here._ He locked the hollowed-out head into place, snapping it to the turtleneck-like fabric protruding from the top of the suit's chest. He couldn't stop laughing as he pulled the straps on the legs of the suit to appropriately tighten them against his own legs.

_You're a murderer._

He was safe inside the hot, dark, damp suit. It that had been discontinued for injuring several entertainers, but he knew what he was doing. He stared through the empty eye sockets of the rabbit head at the imaginary kids rapidly approaching him with angry eyes and hands that reached for him. He was still giggling like a madman.

_You're pathetic._

"Y-YOU CAN'T GET ME!" He screamed, jumping up from his sitting position triumphantly. He heard something click. Bernadette was still there. Her hands were coming through the open, smiling mouth of the Spring Bonnie costume. Touching him. His heartbeat. He could hear it.

 _You're evil._ They were too close!  
"S-STAY AWAY, YOU LITTLE M-MONSTERS!" He waved his arms around wildly as they began to grab at him, pulling themselves up onto him. He suspected that Bernadette was secretly encouraging them. Despite what they said, they had to be aware of each other's presences. Something mechanical snapped. The sanctuary of the huge yellow rabbit creaked and groaned, suddenly feeling tighter. Too tight.

 _You're desperate._ Something else popped in the suit. It was growing too heavy, too full of gears and wires and rods! He couldn't breathe. His imagination was clawing at him, pushing him deeper and deeper into this... This cage. Oh… Oh, no. No! He had to get out! He had to g-!

 _You're sick._ Pain.

 _You're just like your father._ All the metal parts that he had wound back suddenly locked back into their proper places. Gears crushed his joints. Wires tangled themselves around his throat. Rods pierced his jaw and eyes. He couldn't see! He couldn't move! He couldn't scream or breathe! All he could do was let out a horrible, wet, gurgling cry as he fell against the wall. He was twitching. He couldn't see anymore. He felt his blood pouring out of him too fast. He imagined it was thick, blackish purple. Evil, but not red. Never red. Never red again.

_You're going to die._

He whined pitifully as he sat, slumped against the wall, his life pouring out of him on to the grimy floor. The voices had stopped. There was nothing but cold. He was alone.

He was alone and he deserved it. He knew he deserved it. He deserved the dull pain shooting through his entire being as he bled out. He deserved to suffer for what he had done. What he had done to those poor kids. He was a monster. He was going to die alone. He deserved to die alone. He tried to choke out a word. 

"S-s... Sssss-so..... S... sor.... Sss..." He couldn't get it out. He couldn't apologize. He couldn't beg their forgiveness. The forgiveness he didn't deserve. He let out a sob as his world began to completely fade. The darkness was eating away at him, nibbling off his fingertips and toes, slowly creeping up his figure.

 _What a shame. …_ No.

 _You really are pathetic, aren't you?_ No!

 _A real crying shame. You had potential. But you just had to stop those pills. You couldn't live without me, could you?_ Why did she have to be here? He had accepted his fate! He was ready to be delivered from one hell in to another! He was ready to be alone! Why couldn't she just let him go?

 _It's like I told you, Vincent..._ He felt nothing. There was only Bernadette's voice. It disgusted him now. That beautiful voice that his own mind had created was now sick. Dripping. Evil. He hated it. He hated her. He hated himself. Vincent died despising himself, and the last words that echoed in his ears were cruel and imaginary.

_You're mine._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it, guys. The last two chapters aren't necessary to read, although I'd still recommend reading them if you've made it this far ;)   
> But thank you for reading. Thank you so, so, much. Even though this story is two years old, it still means a lot to me. It is a deeply personal work, and probably the most vulnerable I've ever been in writing.   
> So here's to you, guys. Thank you.


	13. EPILOGUE

_What a pity. He really was just like William, wasn't he? Selfish, cruel, never satisfied... And in the end, they still both gave everything for a woman who didn't care. The girl Will left Ruby for left him, too. Took their two children and ran away to Europe. Left him behind to drink away his sorrow._

_And Vincey... Oh, poor delusional Vincey~! Was he really that scared to be by himself? Oh, dear... He wasn't right in the head, was he? If he relied on me..._

_And the funny thing is, I've always hated him. How could you expect me not to? The poor boy may have acted like he was king of the world, but deep down he always found himself disgusting. A pervert, a bastard, a careless slob working the same dead-end job for years. Pathetic._

_I suppose that's why he needed me, then, isn't it? Why he did those dirty deeds for me._  
In truth, I'm glad he did. I've always loved the color red. And now he hates it. Or hated it. It doesn't matter what he thinks anymore. He's been dead far longer than you'd think.   
He died the day he gave in to me. He died the day he chose his imagination over the real world. In fact, he's died several times over by now.

 _...Don't tell me_ you're _mourning_ him _!  
...Really?_

_He was a monster! A killer! A lunatic! A psycho! He was far beyond saving and nothing you or anyone could've done would've helped him! His mother tried and tried until they day she died in a car wreck! His little friends, Christian and Margaret, they tried to help him as well. They would've been there for him if he had just asked. His doctors were always sympathetic._

_There were always people there for him but he didn't want them. He wanted me. For some reason, his sick mind insisted that he separate himself from reality despite his all-consuming fear of being alone. And it killed him._

_So don't you dare pity Vincent. He doesn't deserve it. He wouldn't want it. He would still only want me, despite what he believed in his final moments._

_It's time for us to forget Mister Perse and move on to greater things. I for one would like to find a new..._ Friend _...Someone to look after. Everyone gets lonely, and who could be a better cure for loneliness than me? I am all that is important in the world. I am all that matters. I am all that's real. I promise._

 _I'm here for you. You can trust me. You can believe me. He was foolish for ever doubting me. Let me hold you. Let me make you happy. Give yourself to_ me _. Be mine, as he once was. I will make the loneliness disappear, if you have any. Everyone feels alone from time to time._

 _So tell me...  
Are _ you _lonely?_


	14. Bonus Chapter: HE KNOWS HER NAME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this about six months after I finished "PSYCHO" as a sort of explanation for why Vincent's father left, and where Bernadette came from. Obviously, she was an imaginary friend who "got out of control", but how does a seven year old kid come up with a name like that?

        The woman moved to close the door almost immediately after she opened it, but he caught it and forced it open again. She glared at him, folding her arms over her chest and shifting her weight on to one leg.  
"You're not welcome here." She said sternly.   
"...Detta left me. She... she took the girls and ran off with s-some guy."   
"Why do you think I'd care about that, Will?" He ran a hand through his reddish blonde hair, looking down at his ex-wife with pleading hazel eyes.

        "I..." He looked past her, into the kitchen.  "...You changed the paint." Ruby rolled her grey eyes, moving a strand of dark hair away from her forehead.   
"I don't want to talk to you." She started to close the door again, looking away from him.  
"Please." Will's voice trembled, causing her to pause, "I loved her... she took my daughters... I feel so alone, Ruby." She swallowed, trying to fight the sob trying to claw its way out of her.   
"What do you want from me, sympathy?" She looked back at him, pain and disgust burning behind her pale eyes. He stayed quiet, awkwardly shuffling his feet. 

        "Who do you think you  _are_?" He turned his gaze back to her. She was blown away by how pathetic he looked. He hadn't shaved in while, his hair looked greasy, and there were dark purple bags under his eyes... He was like a living shadow. ...And he was still trying to charm her with that stupid smirk like they were teenagers again. It made her sick to know that it would've worked had she been ten years younger.  
"...How've you been, Ruby?" He asked, his tone gentle, but mildly seductive. She was just as pretty as he remembered. She had always been pretty. She just hadn't been what he was looking for, what would keep him interested... Maybe if he played his cards right he could... She wasn't having any of it.  
        "William. Stop." The man searched for a subject that would open her up to him, make her believe that he cared and that he could be trusted. He just needed a little pick-me-up, that was all! ...He'd be better after that... He found something to ask about.

"How's the kid? He's gotta be, what... fourteen, fifteen by now?" Her eyes went dark.  
"Vincent is seventeen," she practically hissed, "His birthday was last Saturday."   
Will winced. No coming back from that. He couldn't really blame her, he should've remembered that. But his two daughters had practically erased the memory of Vincent... God, he missed those girls... He looked past Ruby again, unaware of how invasive he was being.

        "...Is he, uh, is he around?" Ruby's entire body stiffened as she glared at him. She braced herself on either side of the doorway, looking up at the tall man with the closest thing to hate he had ever seen. He had left! He had  _left_! He had abandoned her and her son, and now he had the audacity to come  _back_? After ten years?! How dare he! How dare he disappear for so long without a word and then just pop by out of nowhere, as if nothing had happened! How dare he expect pity, how dare he expect her to fuck him! How dare he expect ANY sympathy after what he had done! Most of all, how DARE he think for even a second that he could speak to her son! After all he had done, after all they had been through...

        Her son... her baby, her sweet Vincent... She couldn't help him on her own. As much as she wanted to, as hard as she tried... He needed so much more.  
...Will could've been there. He could've offered support. He could've helped pay for the therapy, the medication... he could've stayed and loved his child through the hardships.  
But no. He was too selfish to do that.

        "It doesn't make a difference if he's here or not, William, because I would never  _ever_  let you see him. He doesn't need you in his life. You are a miserable, pathetic, disgusting man and I don't want you coming anywhere near my son, do you understand?!" He seemed startled, almost confused.   
"But he's m-my kid too!" Ruby snorted.  
"Don't pretend to care. He's never been your child to you. You abandoned him. Don't pretend to be interested in Vincent after going  _ten years_  without speaking to him! We both know why you're really here." He tried to speak, come up with a sly excuse, something that would win her over, let him inside... the perfect apology. He came up empty.

        "I don't need him to be around you. You don't deserve to know him." She stepped back into the kitchen, beginning to close the door again before stopping suddenly.   
The way she looked at him... her suffering was almost palpable.  
        "Did you have to sleep with her while he was around?" She growled.   
"...What...?" His voice cracked. He stared at her, completely bewildered. How... how did she know?  
"I know where you'd fuck. The convenience store, your car... our house at LEAST once. Why'd you have to do it when he was around? Couldn't you have at least  _pretended_  to be a decent person every once in a while...?" William was stunned. How did she know? How had she learned all of this? How did she know that they'd sometimes hook up when he was supposed to be babysitting?

"Ruby, how--"   
"He knows her name."   
"...Detta?" 

        "No, William. Not that stupid nickname you came up with. Her REAL name. He knew it when he was little. No one ever told him. He never asked. He just knew. He must've heard it from you." She blinked back tears, desperately trying to keep from falling apart, "He doesn't have any idea of what she looked like, so you couldn't've introduced them. He had to have heard you!"  
"Ruby, I don't--"   
"You cheated on me with her and he heard you." He bit his lip, unable to look at her.   
"I... I didn't think he could... I thought..." he let his sentence trail off, unfinished. She scoffed, blowing her dark hair out of her eyes. 

        "Get away from my house, William. Go find yourself another whore. I never, ever want to see you again. And I mean  _never_. Stay away from me, and stay away from Vincent." She shut the door, leaving Will standing on the front stoop looking blankly at the grain in the faded green wood. His wife was gone. She took his two daughters and left him for another man. She left him. Ruby didn't want him anymore for some reason. And so here he was. All by himself, outside in the dark. He had been perfectly civil... Why did she reject him like that? It hadn't been his fault!

        He had been a kid! It wasn't his fault she had gotten pregnant! The condom broke, sure, but she said she was safe! He hadn't wanted a kid, he hadn't wanted to get married. His parents made him propose! Just because she had wanted a life with him didn't mean that she could expect him to want the same thing with her. How could she have expected him to stay at all? She knew that he was a free spirit, that he needed to roam, to explore! That's how it had always been! And she had turned everyone against him, too. His parents and siblings refused to forgive him. And apparently his own kid wasn't going to have anything to do with him either!  
          
        He turned away, storming down the wooden porch stairs with his hands shoved in his pockets as he made his way back to his car. He didn't need Ruby. He didn't need Bernadette.   
He didn't need anyone.


End file.
